Like We're Made of Starlight
by LeighKelly
Summary: As the oldest in a large family, and her father serving overseas in the second World War, Santana Lopez leaves the city to tend bar in a tiny Fire Island town. Almost immediately, the female captain of a fishing boat catches her eye and calls into question everything she knows about right and wrong, and everything she knows about herself.
1. Prologue

From across the room, you catch her eye. You're working the late shift again, at the bar, and your feet, they're tired from your heels. At first glance, you don't realize she's a woman, shirtsleeves and knickers rolled up, cap haphazardly positioned on her head. But then she laughs, a woman's laugh, and you realize, those eyes were always too pretty to ever belong to anyone but. But you chase those thoughts away, because-

You're closing up, all alone. Mr. Edja, he trusts you. He's an old friend of your Papi's, and with him overseas, he'd offered you a job, a paycheck to send back to your Mama and the little ones this summer, and a place to stay, because it's too far to home on the ferry every day. You're homesick something fierce, but you promised you'd help. When you see something in the shadows, you jump. But then you realize, it's her, the girl from earlier. She's watching you.

"Go on home." You call out. This late at night thing, you hate it, and, what if there are others? She was getting awful rowdy with those boys in there.

"Ain't safe out here for a lady all by her lonesome."

"You're a lady too." You smooth your dress, and, she steps closer to you. You shiver, but, it's certainly not cold.

"Boys won't touch me, Pop's the ferry cap'n. Lemme walk ya home."

"Home's right up there." You point to your little apartment.

"Walk to the beach with me then. Then I'll walk ya home after."

Everything in you screams to say no. Everything in you screams that she's dangerous. And not because of the boys. Not because she walks around dressing like one of them either. But, because you look at those eyes of hers and you know, you feel things you aren't supposed to feel. Things your Mama's priest wouldn't like very much. She extends her hand though, and it's soft and warm, and you think you'd follow her anywhere she wants to go.

"Brittany." She grins, all teeth.

"Santana." And you go, you walk away from your little upstairs bedroom. With her. Without fear.

You kick off your shoes and you step into the soft sand. She holds your hand like it's nothing. She holds your hand and makes you feel like there's nothing else at all. Like the whole world's not at war, like your Papi's not over there, like you and your Mama don't have three little mouths to feed.

You walk, and you tell her things. You walk, and she tells you how she's fishin' her brother's boat, because he died at Normandy three weeks ago. She tells you she's her Pop's only helper now, 'cuz her Ma died when she was born. But she doesn't make you feel sad when she does. Something about her eyes, under the light of the stars, with the ocean rumbling, they make you feel hope, they make you forget bad things exist. And you walk with her, in the middle of the night, to the lighthouse. And you've only known her name for two hours, but, somehow she knows your secret, and, you learn she has one too. You learn it when she kisses you there, hard on the mouth. And the stars in the sky, they dull, next to the ones you see in her eyes.


	2. Islanders Like Me

You pray. Late, each and every night, when you stumble into your upstairs room, intoxicated on salt air and Brittany's kisses, you drop down to your knees at the foot of your bed, and you pray like you've never prayed before. Your Mama, she hadn't wanted you to come to this place. She'd warned you about booze and dishonest men, about lawlessness, in this isolated place. She'd made you swear you'd stay her good girl. But she hadn't warned you about dark black nights with the water licking your feet. She hadn't warned you about starry eyed fishergirls. She hadn't warned you about the tingles that run from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. You pray, though you know, there aren't enough prayers in the world that can keep you from feeling the way you feel, that can stop the way you're falling.

Each day, at five-thirty, the Alcott pulls up to it's dock slip outside the bar. It's Brittany's boat, a Kettenburg, she'd told you proudly, though you have no idea what that means. You watch her, through the new panes of glass. You watch as she ties lines and orders the three boys on her crew. She walks with a swagger you've never seen on a lady. She commands respect. She hauls barrels of fish. She haggles with the buyers, always getting what her catch is worth, without batting her pretty eyelashes to do it. And always, always, she throws a smile through the window, because she knows you're watching. She knows you're waiting for when your time with her comes.

You've known her three weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. She stays at the bar each night until closing, drinking with her crew, and their rivals. She waits, in the shadows, as you close up each night. She holds your hand, and she kisses you on the beach out of sight. She lights a candle and she sits with you while you pull the letters from your mother and father out of your dress pocket and read them. She finds you pretty shells, and you lay them out on your dressing table when you you get home. She tells you all her secrets, and you tell her yours. She cries, for the first time, she tells you, over her brother, because she misses him so much, she dreams of bloodied bodies on a beach in France, and she's scared that soon the war will take her friends too. Sometimes, she falls asleep in the sand, with her head in your skirts, and you take off her cap and stroke your fingers through her long blonde hair. You don't know what you're doing, you just know it's wrong. But never, never in your life, has anything felt so right.

"Santana!" You hear her voice cut through a quiet Sunday morning. You sit on the edge of the dock, swinging your feet and eating the bread and jam you'd brought down for breakfast, and you turn in the direction on the sound. "There you are!"

"Good morning, Brittany." In the daylight, you feel shy. In the daylight, everything seems bigger and scarier, somehow.

"I've been lookin' everywhere for ya! We don't go out on Sundays, And the bar's closed. I wanna go somewhere, on the Alcott."

"I…I'm not sure about that." You shake your head. You're hesitant about boats, about open water, even the ferry makes you queasy. But more than that, you're hesitant about more daylight time with her. Because around her, you just, don't know how you can control the urges inside of you.

"But Santana." She reaches to offer you a hand up, and you take it. You feel those same electric sparks that are there after dark, and you look away from her. "Ya told me that you've never been clammin' before, and today's the perfect day."

Your resistance is futile. Brittany grins at you. She steps onto her boat, and she leans against a beam, slipping her hands into her pockets and waiting. You can't help it. You want to go. You hate that you do. But Brittany is magnetic. You can't deny that you're intrigued by spending a real day with the girl who kisses you in the dark. When she extends her hand again, offering you help onto the deck, you take a deep breath, you close your eyes, just for a second. You forget about priests and God and your mother, and you let her pull you aboard. You feel the press of her body against yours, before you pull away and smooth your skirt and you swallow hard. She looks at you in this way you can't even comprehend, and again, you have to look away from you.

As she unties the lines, your eyes can't leave her. Her fingers work quickly, you can see the muscles work in her back, and you're lying to yourself if you say you don't squeeze your thighs together at the sight. She switches on the motor, and a thrill rushes through you. She takes the wheel, and you're nothing but impressed with her. She grew up here, on this island, not so far from where you did, in terms of miles, but truly a world away. She's told you she's never been in a school or a church, or any place of formal learning. She speaks different than anyone you know from back home. Her, and the others who've lived on the island for their whole lives. Who fish the water and farm the oysters. But here she is, navigating the water, as she does every day, here she is, doing something you could never dream of.

Out on the open water, Brittany takes your hand. It's another thrill. You shouldn't feel this way, but you do. You wish you could kiss her right there, as she looks out at the bay spread out before you. The brim of her cap shades her eyes from the bright sun, and you lift your hand to do the same. She pulls up, as close to shore as she can get and drops the anchor. When she kicks off her shoes and jumps over the side, landing in waist deep water, you're skeptical. You certainly didn't dress for swimming, you actually can't swim at all.

"Hand me that burlap bag, would ya?" Brittany's whole body wiggles in the water, and she pulls up her foot, holding a hard shell clam between her muddy toes. "And come on down, the water's great."

"I think I'd rather just sit here." You tell her, peering over the edge, and holding the bag so she can reach it.

"Aw, but where's the fun in that? I've gone clammin' hundreds'a times, I thought we came out here for ya to try."

"I didn't know…" You look down, sheepish, as she wades back toward you. "I though you did it on the shore, not out in the middle of the bay."

"This is barely the middle. It's a big bed, right here. And I didn't bring any food, so if ya want lunch, we oughta get digging." She grins. That grin. The one that makes you feel the things you're not supposed to feel. You look around you, you see that there's no one, no boats, no people, not for miles. It's just you and her.

"I've never learned to swim." You speak softly, and her grin, it fades into a soft, caring smile.

"Come here." She crooks her finger, and you shake your head. "C'mon, it's barely up to my waist. I won't let ya drown, Santana."

You don't mean to, but you swoon at her words. Sometimes, you look at her, and she feels like those heroes in the books you used to read, late at night, under the covers of your bed while your sisters slept soundly across the room. Like Heathcliff or Prince Charming. You look at her, standing in the water, her sleeves rolled up, the brim of her hat shadowing her face, and she looks dashing, handsome almost, but underneath, you know, she's so much better. She's soft, she's beautiful, she's something so much more than those storybook characters. She's a woman. And she's here, she's real, and she's extending her hand to you, and you swallow, trying to wet your dry throat.

"I promise, pretty lady. Take my hand."

"Brittany." You're glad your cheeks are flushed from the sun, because then she can't see the way they heat at her words. Then maybe, maybe you can still keep these bubbling feelings hidden in the daylight. You kick off your shoes though. You take her hand, you take it, and you yelp, just a little when you slip into the cool water of the bay.

"See, I told ya. It's nice right."

"It is." You agree, though your skirt sticks to your legs, and the salty water stings your skin a little. You agree, because she's still holding your hand. You agree, because the cool waves and the sun and the wet mud beneath your feet, it all feels better than you could gave imagined.

"Good. Now there ain't no such thing as free lunch, so ya oughta start workin' for it. Dig your toes in real good, there's lots of the suckers down there."

It's the most fun you've ever had. You can't even lie. You shriek with joy when you feel your first little neck, like Brittany tells you they're called, and she wraps her at, around your waist to steady you while you stand on one foot to retrieve it. By the time you've filled the small bag, you're filthy. Bay mud is streaked across your teeth, your white blouse is soaked through to your undergarments, but you don't think you've ever cared less about it. Not when Brittany is tramping toward the shore. Not when she's pulling a light from her breast pocket and starting a fire with the bramble she gathers and emptying the bag atop it. You sit on the shore and you watch her poke at it. You watch her take off her cap and let her hair tumble down to her waist. The gold of her tresses, is shines in the sunshine, _she_ shines in the sun, and she grins again, pointing to the fire, where the shells have begun to pop open.

"We're gonna have a feast of 'em, that's for sure."

You burn your fingers and your tongue, pulling the briny meat from the piping hot shells, but it's the best thing you've ever tasted, truly, and Brittany beams when you tell her as much. She watches you as you eat, affection coloring her face, and it makes your insides twist. When the clams are gone, and your bellies are full, her hand finds a place to rest on top of yours in the sand. She kisses her shoulder, quick, like the secret this is, and you find her lips, just as quick, just as quiet. Your stomach drops, the same way it always does. The way you still can't tell if it's a good or a bad feeling, and she just laces her fingers with yours and leans back.

"They say there's gonna be a bridge there in a few years, ya know." She points out in the distance, and she sulks a little. Internally, but you can still feel her distaste.

"Is it gonna disturb the fish?"

"Nah, the fish'll be fine, but that Moses guy, he wants to ruin everything."

"Moses?" You purse your lips, and you tense, thinking of the parting of the Red Sea, thinking of your Sunday school teacher in her stiff collared dress, thinking of Father Tomas. Thinking of that imposing crucifix in the front of the church back home.

"Robert Moses. He's the one buildin' up all the roads across the water. It's gonna be more and more summer people here, all the time. It's gonna wreck the whole way we do things here. They're not islanders like us, not with their flashy bathin' suits and their layin' on the beach to tan. We've got our own world here, and we like it that way. The people that come, they used to come because it's _private_ here." Her eyes, they flick down to where she holds your hand. She doesn't think you noticed, you don't think, but you do, you definitely do. "I don't think it will be, not for long."

"I'm sorry, Brittany." You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. "I'm sorry for being summer people too."

"You're not though, not really. You're a worker, just like. Sure, you're not from here, and ya wear clothes fancier than the rest of us, but ya fit in real nice. I wouldn't mind if ya stayed forever."

"Well, thank you. That feels like a big compliment."

"The biggest." She nods, very emphatically. "I sure like ya a lot, Santana. And I'm glad Mr. Edja brought you on over. Ya make me feel a whole lot happier, in a real sad time for me."

"You've made me feel much happier too. And much more at home too. It helps with the homesickness, that's for certain."

"Good." She lifts up your hand. She kisses the inside of your palm, another secret, among so many. "We oughta head back now. Gotta have Sunday dinner with my Pop. But if ya want, we'll head down to the lighthouse later on, and have a look at all the jellies that have washed up on shore."

"Okay, yeah." You nod. Looking in her eyes, blue as the ocean. Falling, falling, more and more, each minute you spend around her. Falling more and more, though you know you shouldn't. "I'd like that a lot."


	3. Maybe That's a Start

True to her word, she teaches you to swim. Late at night, in the bay, still as glass, under the light of the moon. She sees you in your undergarments and your slip, and you see her in a bathing suit that you wouldn't have expected. Bright red, even in the moonlight, and, you think you blush ever redder. In the water, she coaxes you, her strong hands holding you when you scare yourself. And you learn, you learn quick, maybe because you look forward to the moments after, the moments on the sand, lying on a blanket, wrapped in towels. Your head, it lands on her shoulder sometimes, more than sometimes, and you don't move it. You're comfortable there, while she plays with your fingers, you're comfortable, in the stillness of the night, where all you hear is the roar of the ocean on the other side of the island, the soft lapping of the bay against the rocky shore. You're comfortable with _her_ , and the screaming in your mind, the sounds of Hail Mary's, and imposing church bells, they quiet, until the only sound from within you is the beating of your heart, quickening, in Brittany's presence.

It's on the shore of the bay where you give yourself to each other, fully. You're terrified, terrified, when the kissing you do turns to something more. But you give in to the need that takes over, you give into the desire that courses through you when your barely clothed body is pressed against hers. You fumble, you shake, you have no idea what it is that you're doing, but, you work your fingers inside of her bathing suit. You shiver, as you watch her face contort in pleasure. You kiss her, and you swallow her moans, threatening to cut through the stillness of the night. You tense, after, when she rolls on top of you. She freezes, she looks deep into your eyes, her pupils, black as the night sky, and she doesn't touch you. Not until your breathing slows, not until you nod, slowly, and she grabs your hand, and she holds it, she holds it tight, while she brings you to a greater bliss than you've ever known.

This thing you're doing, it doesn't have a name, not one that you know. Your first time on the beach, it certainly isn't your last. Your nights, they still involve walks, or swims, and certainly the sharing of each other's inner selves, but now they also involve this _physical intimacy._ You'd call her your lover, but, the connotation of that word, it terrifies you. And this thing, it's not like what you've read in even the most risqué storybooks you've come across. There aren't tousled sheets, and tumbling onto mattresses, and perfume between your thighs. You've never seen the inside of her bedroom, and she's never seen the inside of yours. But this thing between you, it's raw, and though you loathe to admit it- much as you crave her constantly, much as you smell at taste her, even when you're apart- it's real. And should you be damning yourself to to hell with each and every desperate kiss, you find yourself wondering, as you drop your knees and say your rosary, asking for forgiveness for your sins, if perhaps a one way ticket to the deepest circle wouldn't be worth it for a lifetime of stolen moments with this stunning fishergirl.

Mr. Edja wants to keep you on, even as the end of summer draws closer. You've been mostly running the bar on your own, and he plans to keep it open for the locals through the winter. He warns you about hurricane season, about the harsh, isolated winters on the island, but he tells you he'll pay for your trip back to the city to see your Mama and the kids, and to gather your winter things. He tells you he'll pay you forty-eight cents an hour, at least a nickel more than you'd make in the city. You tell Brittany that you're considering it, and you know, you know that she tries to hide the flicker of excitement that passes over her features. You'd by lying if you said her reaction didn't excite you too, but this decision, you have to make it for you and only you. You call your mother, a rare treat, hearing her voice, since there's no phone in the bar, and finding one at all on the island isn't the easiest feat. Your sisters, the scramble to the phone up speak with you, each bring allotted just a brief moment. Your heart, it aches with homesickness, it always does, except when you're with Brittany, and you try not to cry when you hang up the phone. You try not to cry when your Mama whispers to you in Spanish that she misses you something terrible. But you fail, you fail really miserably when she tells you the decision is your choice, but the money, it helps.

You're glad the next day is Sunday. You're glad you have a day off to just, rest a little.

The sadness, it hit you harder than you'd thought, hearing Carlota's little voice asking you if you'll be back before her first day of school, hearing the baby, who's barely a baby, and who probably doesn't even remember you, whimper in the background. You miss them, you miss them terribly, and the decision, it's so difficult for you to make. You know you could find some sort of job back home. But the money, it's so much better, and, though you try, you try harder than anything to deny it, you're also afraid of what missing Brittany would feel like. You're afraid of returning to a world where she isn't. You're afraid of when the boys begin to come home. And you're most afraid of what you feel is inevitable. Of having to give yourself to one of them the way you gave yourself to Brittany. Of having to marry one of them and bear their children. Of being who it is that you're supposed to me. A good Catholic girl. A wife. A mother.

Like you always are on sunny Sundays, you're out on the dock. You watch the leisure sailors out on their boats. You hear the whooping and hollering of people disembarking the ferry. Captain Pierce, he waves to you and tips his hat as the ferry pulls out again. He always does, though he has no idea, really, who you are. You're the bar girl, you're not, whatever it is you are to Brittany, because _friend,_ that doesn't feel truly right either. She's more than that. And your cheeks burn, they burn hot, as you turn your attention back to the pages of _A Tree Grows In Brooklyn,_ and you wonder, you wonder, if he'd be so friendly if he knew. And you're startled, just a little, when you feel a presence behind you. But you turn your head, and your jaw, it drops of it's own accord.

"Mornin'." Brittany grins. She's all teeth and blue eyes, and, like you've never seen her before. She wears a navy and white dress, and her hair, it's all down in loose curls, like she'd set it last night before bed. She offers you a hand up, and you stand, taking all of her in.

"Brittany, good morning." Your throat, it feels dry, and you swallow over and over again, trying to moisten it.

"What do ya think?" She wiggles a little in front of you, and you break into a big smile. "I borrowed it from Norma Jean Karofsky, and she helped me with my hair. I've never looked fancy-like, but I wanted to look real pretty for ya."

"You're always pretty in my book." You cast your eyes down, shy, and you feel hers boring into you. "But I like the dress, it suits you. Are you headed somewhere swanky?"

"I was hopin' we both might be. Davey's takin' his dingy over to Duffy's in the Grove, and I wanted to ask ya to join us. I think you'll like it a whole lot over there."

"What's over there?" You ask, though you know it doesn't really matter. You know you're apt to say yes, if it means spending the whole day with her. Even if her crewmate will be with you, and it means you can't do what you'd like to.

"Just a bar, open on Sundays, and some dancin'."

"And David won't mind if I join you? I don't want to intrude on your outing."

"Oh no, he was goin' over there without me, and I asked him if we could join. But if ya wanna so somethin' else, I'll tell him to go on ahead."

"No. No." You swallow again. Brittany wrings her hands, and you know, you know she put a lot of thought into this, into the getting dressed and the planning. And you want to go, you do, though you've never spent any time with her friends before. "Let me just put my book away and grab my things, and then we'll go."

You hurry up to your room, you leave your book on your nightstand, and you check yourself in the mirror, making sure you look nice enough to leave. Clutch in hand, you head back downstairs, and Brittany leans against the wall, fidgeting with her hands, finding it strange without pockets to put them in. You smile at her, and she loops her arm through yours, appropriate as you can be, out in daylight. You want to kiss her, you want to kiss her so badly, but you know you can't, so you settle for this. She leads you to David's little boat, and he stands on the dock, tugging on his necktie in the August heat.

"Mornin' Miss Santana." He nods and tips his hat to you, and you return the greeting, accepting his hand when he helps you aboard the boat.

Brittany squeezes beside you, and hidden by your skirts, she clutches your hand. It thrills you and terrifies you all at once, her callused hand in yours, with David only a few feet away, but what you want, _all_ you want, is to get closer to her. So you do, in the open water. You slide, so your shoulders brush. You slide, so even with the wind in your hair, you can feel Brittany's breath on your face, you can hear her whispers in your ear, you can sense her eyes on you.

Cherry Grove, on the surface, looks very much like Leja Beach. There are the same wood framed houses like where you know Brittany lives, though you've never been near. There are the same crowds of people, albeit, smaller, on the dock, while David ties the boat and Brittany helps you out. There's the same merriment, the same sound of the birds, the same bay. But, as you walk toward this bar they're taking you to, you realize, almost immediately, the things are very different. You realize, that there are people, who hold hands, there are people who kiss each other, and, none of them are of opposite sexes. These people, they're all, though you cringe at the word, given your own recent revelations, _queer._

"Brittany, what _is_ this place?" You whisper to her, and you realize, you realize, you've never dropped her hand. You realize it, and again, you look around.

"It's a safe place, Santana." She promises you. "It's a private place."

"But. But what about David?"

"Davey comes here for his own reasons." Brittany shakes her head, she doesn't betray his trust, though you think you understand. "What happens in this place, it stays here."

"I don't…" You feel bile rise in your throat at the brazenness of these people. Doing their secret things in daylight. It's not something you've witnessed before, and Brittany, she strokes the inside of your wrist, reminding you again that she's still holding your hand.

"We don't have to do anything ya don't want to do, pretty lady." She whispers still, and her words, they make chills run down your spine. The good ones, though your mind tries to tell you the opposite. "How 'bout we just go on inside and get ourselves a drink?"

"Okay." You nod, trying to let your uneasiness dissipate. "Okay, let's."

She finds you a table in the bar, and when she leaves you there, waving off your efforts to pay, you take it all in. It's mostly men, dancing with other men to the sound of Harry James tinkling through the gramophone, but there are a few women too. Women in skirts, women in pants. Women who dance together, and who hold each other close. This strangeness within you, you try and swallow it, and when Brittany comes back, bright eyed, and carrying a Dewars for herself and a Gordon's sour for you, you take an unladylike gulp, trying to burn away your secondhand mortification.

"I didn't take ya hear to embarrass you." Brittany plays with the ribbon on her dress, and she doesn't look up at your eyes. "I just thought, maybe bein' around other people like, other people who, do the things we do, it might make you feel a little better."

"What's making you think I need to feel better? I feel just fine." You snap at her, and then, as her face falls further, you immediately feel bad.

"I hear ya mumbling that _blessed are thou among sinners_ stuff sometimes. I might not've gone to a church, but I know what a sinner is, and I've been around here enough to know that people think the queers are just that. I don't want ya to feel bad bein' around me. 'Cuz it sure makes me feel good bein' around you."

"It's not- Being around you doesn't make me feel bad, Brittany." You find her hand on the table, and you place yours over it. Talking about this, it's what you'd promised yourself you wouldn't do, because that's where things get sticky. But you care too much for this girl to see her sad. "Being around you makes me feel better than anything else. It's just, I feel bad because it's not supposed to feel this good. I'm supposed to go on home after this and marry a nice boy. But I don't _want_ to. Why would I want that, when I'm here, and you kiss me, and it makes me see stars?"

"So don't."

"It's not that simple." You sigh.

"Seems it to me. There's a whole room full of people here who ain't marryin' who they're supposed to."

"This isn't the real world though. Boys can't marry boys, and girls can't marry girls."

"Ya know, you're real smart, with all your books, but I think ya need to open your eyes a little more. All these people are in the real world too. In your city, even in your old school. Just because they're hiding doesn't mean they're not there. And besides, I'm not askin' ya to marry me, pretty lady. Maybe for a dance, or a kiss, but you think too much about stuff in the future. There's a ring in my brother's drawer that he was gonna give to Norma Jean when he came back a hero, but that never got to happen. Why live for that maybe, rather than the right now which ya already know is real?"

"I-" You're stunned, speechless, really. Because she makes things seem so easy. She makes you want to believe they are, though you know that you should know better. "I think I'm gonna need another gin."

You drink a second, and then a third gin, all while Brittany holds your hand and sips at her first scotch. You begin to feel light in the head, and your wariness toward the scene, it wanes. Out of the corner of your eye, you see David, dancing with a blue eyed boy. They're smiling, they're laughing, and your muddled mind tries to make sense of how that could possibly be something wrong. How any of this could be something wrong. Brittany keeps a close eye on you, she's never seen you drink before, and you feel this nagging tug of desire at the pit of your stomach. She's beautiful, so beautiful. In her rolled up pants and her wool cap, or here, like this, in her polka dotted dress and her blonde ringlets. You think about leaning over the table and kissing her, right there, but you don't think you're ready to announce yourself like that, not quite yet. Instead, you make to stand, your grip on her hand tight, and she swallows down the rest of her drink, before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you close as you make your way through the throng of couples dancing.

"This okay?" She looks deep in your eyes, searching for consent, as she wraps her arms around your waist. You can only nod, as you snake yours around her neck. You can only nod, because you hadn't realized, how much you'd ever dreamed of this. You hadn't realized, as you loved her in the darkness, how good it would feel to love her in the light.

"Perfect."

Holding her tight, you sway. The sound of Bing Crosby fills your ears, _would you like to swing on a star? Carry moonbeams home in a jar._ Your knees, they're weak, and not just from the white liquor. They're weak, because of the way she smiles at you, soft and adoring. They're weak, from the scent of oatmeal soap and saltwater and cigar smoke. They're weak, because her fingertips tickle your back, and being so close to her, it always makes you just a little dizzy. You don't fight the urge you feel, the one to rest your head against her chest, and when you do, you hear her sharp intake of breath, and she holds you, closer, closer.

You dance away the afternoon. When your buzz begins to fade, you switch from slow dancing to swing. Brittany shocks you with her impressive Lindy Hop and Jitterbug, and she just shrugs when you comment on it. Outside of the window, the sun begins to set, and more couples spill out onto the porch that wraps around. Taking you by the hand again, Brittany leads you out. She doesn't stop where everyone else gathers, she knows that really, you're still a little uncomfortable, especially not being wrapped up in your dancing. So she takes you down to the beach. Maybe it's silly, but, that feels like _your_ place. And you're comfortable there, as she tucks her dress beneath her, and pats the sand beside her for you to sit. You smile, looking at how her golden hair shines in the pink light of the sunset. You smile, and you sit beside her, curling your whole body into her.

"How ya doin', dolly?" She strokes your hair, and you swoon, against your efforts, hearing her call you that.

"I'm feeling really good."

"Santana, there's somethin' I've been wantin' to say."

"Hmm?" You turn yourself so you're looking in her eyes. You see flecks of gold, flickering, gorgeous.

"Ever since I met you." She slips into a serious voice, her words, so much more pronounced than they usually are. "I've been feelin' so different than ever. And I think, now, that maybe I've been fallin' in love, all this time, with you."

"Brittany." Your mind, it's screaming, screaming, screaming. But your heart, it pounds behind your ribs. Your stomach, it bubbles and gurgles.

"It's alright if you don't feel it back, I just wanted to say it anyway, how I've been feeling. 'Cuz you're somethin' real special, and I'm just glad you're around, even if it might not be for too much longer."

"I- Brittany. I don't know what to say."

"Just don't say that you hate me. Please."

"I could never hate you." You swallow hard, and you draw in the sand with your toes. The things you feel for this girl. They're too much. They're too fast. And they make you want to run, run far away, to where it's safe. But her eyes, they hold you to your spot. Her eyes, they're pleading with you not to run. So you don't. You stay, and you lean your head on her shoulder, watching the sun sink into the ocean. You sit there, silent, with her. You swallow the tears in the back of your throat. Because it's everything you want, and everything you shouldn't. And you're torn. Torn between staying on this island, and going home. Torn between remaining silent, and telling her how you feel. Because you're not sure, you're just not sure, whether the worse sin is in feeling it, acting upon it, or speaking of it out loud.


	4. Love Will Not Break Your Heart

After _that_ night, you go home. You're running, you know. From the feelings inside of you, from Brittany herself, from what she'd said means for the two of you. But also, because the summer is nearly over, and Mr. Edja needs your decision. He sends you home to your Mama, when you tell him you're not sure- because you're not sure about anything, not anymore- so you can talk to her in person. With seashells wrapped in day old newsprint and sand still hidden in the pockets of your skirts- sand that got there from activities you won't think about- you board the ferry. Captain Pierce is there. He waves to you, his usual jovial manner, something you admire him for especially, since you know of his two great sadnesses. You know it's just him and Brittany. And you look out the window at the gentle waves of the bay. You look out the window, and you swear, in the distance, you see Brittany's boat. You look out the window and you swear she's there on the horizon, barking orders at her crew.

You didn't say goodbye to her. You didn't know what to say at all, truly. You'd seen her last the night you'd gone to the Grove. After you'd upchucked over the side of David's boat- from the booze, maybe, or from the words that swirled in your mind, more likely. _I love you._ She'd said those three words to you. Words girls aren't supposed to say to other girls. Feelings girls aren't supposed to _feel_ for other girls. But you _do,_ you do feel them. When you're with her, when you think of her, when a love song comes on the radio in the bar. In wake, in sleep. You feel them, but you can't say them out loud. The kissing, the touching, the _intimate_ things you do together, they're bad enough. But to speak the words out loud like that- _the sin, it's not in the thing, it's in the talking about it out loud,_ your _abuelita_ always warns- to express such brazen feeling, there aren't enough novenas to wipe them from your lips. So you leave, without a word, beyond the muttered _thank you,_ that night when she helped you out of David's boat, and she walked you to the door. So you leave, not knowing, whether you'll come back again, or have Mr. Edja send along your few remaining things, when he finds a new girl to work the bar. You leave, the memory of Brittany, in her blue dress, the memory of starlit nights, burned behind your eyes.

The railroad train, it carries you back to the city. You stare out that window too. But you don't see Brittany in the pine trees. You don't see Brittany in the housing developments that seem to have sprung up everywhere, over the summer. You don't see her there, but you feel her, under your skin. You feel the ghost of suspender straps at the tip of you fingers. You feel the tickle of blonde hair on your neck. You feel the press of pink lips, soft, soft against your own. You feel it, though it's only in your mind. You feel it, and you fight your eyes to say open. You fight them, because if they close, if you see her face there, in the place it's burned forever, you know you won't even bother to fight yourself anymore.

You get yourself downtown to the apartment you've spent most of your life in. It's noisy, and raucous, the things that you'd ached for while you were gone. But everything feels just a little off, the whole time you're there. Of course, you're elated to be in your mother's embrace. You're elated to feel yourself surrounded by Spanish words, by the smell of your _abuela's_ cooking, by the kids, running around the apartment and clamoring for your attention. You've missed them, you've missed them all so much. But you feel all wrong in your city. You feel wrong, sleeping in the bed you've slept in most of your life, little Mariana, snuggled into your side, your fingers, ticking her back to sleep when she has nightmares. You feel wrong, with the crucifix above the door, bearing down upon you. You feel all wrong in this place, as you dream dreams of a blonde fisher girl, eyes full of starlight.

By the end of your alloyed time there, it's easier than you'd thought it would be to make the decision. It's easier than you'd thought to know where you should be. Sure, your mind, it's telling you one thing. It's telling you to stay in Manhattan, to get a job making uniforms in the factory on William Street, your own help to the war effort. It's telling you to tear yourself away from that other island now, before you're in too deep. But your heart, your heart knows better. It knows that you can't. It knows that you need to return to her, because you may not be able to say the words, you may be terrified of their repercussions, but you don't feel their sentiment any less, and without her, you feel incomplete.

So you go back to Fire Island. Early on a grey Tuesday morning, just after than sun should have risen, you board the train. Your Mama comes with you to the station to say goodbye. She kisses your cheeks, and she presses a cloth wrapped bowl of rice and beans into your hands- the last of the aluminum foil making up tanks or bullets, or whatever it is they do with all that scrap. You don't know when you'll come back, it might be months again, so she takes you in, her hands on your shoulders, and tears in her eyes. She thanks you, again, for doing this, for helping her take care of the little ones, but you feel a nagging guilt in the pit of your stomach. The first time you'd left home, that was your sole agenda, but this time, this time as you leave again, even with the money you'll send back to them, you can't help but feel selfish for going, you can't help but feel that this is all for you, for you and the deeds you shouldn't be doing, the feelings you shouldn't be feeling.

You work the afternoon, skies, still grey. There's a lingering nausea in your stomach, the choppy water as you'd crossed the bay making you queasy, and Captain Pierce's warning to _stay safe out there, ya hear, girl,_ making you queasier still. The whole bar is a flurry, talking of a big storm coming. But you don't have time to think about that. You're too busy, pouring drinks, dealing with the disarray the absent minded Mr. Edja left in his wake. You're too busy to think of what's brewing. You're too busy, even to think of your own confusion, until you see her. Sitting with Davey and Michael, at their usual table. She smiles, soft, unthreatening, but she doesn't come up to order her drink. She's giving you space, you think. And maybe, maybe she's also angry with you, that you left. Maybe she's hurt, that you never told her if and when you were coming back. Disheartened that you didn't even say goodbye. That thought, hurting her, it hurts you too, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat every time you look at her. You have to avoid her eyes as much as possible, because seeing her sad, it makes it too hard for you to work.

While you close up the bar, you notice her, loitering outside. She's alone, you can tell, and you wonder, you wonder if she's truly waiting there for you. You wonder, if you'll go back to your old routine. You wonder, if you're strong enough to do that, knowing what you know, feeling what you feel. When you've finished wiping down the bar top and setting the bottles back in their rightful places, you look over everything once more, and you slip out the door. Before you can turn to her, you have to take a breath. You have to center yourself, because just feeling her in your space, it's already overwhelming. But seeing her eyes, feeling her breath on your face, her lips, maybe, on your lips, it might crumble your willpower. You've missed her, you've missed her, so much, in just a few days, and though maybe you should, you can't hate yourself for feeling that.

"You came back." Her voice cuts through the air, vibrating over the crashing waves of the bay against the dock, over the roar of the angry ocean across the island.

"I did." You turn to face her. She blinks slowly, translucent eyelids fluttering. That picture you'd kept in your mind, Brittany in the blue dress, it fades away, in favor of her true picture. Askew cap, suspenders, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. Her cocky grin is missing though, replaced by this new sort of look. Not quite wonderment, but something of the sort, disbelief perhaps, wonderment's less optimistic cousin. "I went home to see my family, and to think about things. And I decided to come back. To stay on for the winter."

"I wasn't sure ya would."

"Neither was I." You tell her, open, honest. Because still, still, she makes you feel like you can tell her anything. Even when you're not sure you truly know anything for yourself. "But, I couldn't stay away."

"The money's good." She shrugs, hands in her pockets. The urge to kiss her then, right on the dock, it's hard, so hard to resist.

"Among other things." You mumble, best you can do, and her eyebrows, they shoot up, only for a brief moment, before they settle again. "Where's your boat?"

"We pulled it outta the water earlier. It ain't gonna be pretty when this storm hits, not takin' any chances."

"You really think it'll be that bad?" Your eyes widen, a little, in alarm. You'd been gone, you suppose, when the talk had started, but earlier in the bar, you'd figured it was just gossip, that it wouldn't be worse than the other rainstorms you'd seen earlier in the summer.

"September storms're usually bad news. I was too young to worry anythin' real about thirty-eight, but lookin' back, seein' the damage still left behind, it was bad. We're always real prepared though. Me and Pop start storing up 'round the first week of August. He got the windows boarded up this mornin' too, before his first run on the boat, takin' a lot of the fair weather folks back to the mainland."

"I-I didn't know about doing anything to prepare." You stammer, feeling a cold type of fear settle into you bones. Brittany and her father, they're salt of the earth type, she doesn't worry much about nature, while you jump at a particularly loud cricket in the dunes. If she's alarmed, then, then-

"That's why I'm waitin' here. I knew ya wouldn't've, it's your first one. Ya think I'd leave ya out right on the water like this? All by yourself?"

"I just figured you were waiting to speak with me. About, what happened before I left."

"I'm not gonna force ya to talk, Santana. I did all the talkin' I had to do, and ya know how I feel. When you're ready, you'll come to me." Her voice feels, salty, almost, a subtle sting to it, the the ocean on wounded flesh, and you feel your cheeks warm. You know that you ran, without a goodbye, and she knows it too. But, she's good. She's so good, that she's come to make sure you were taken care of anyway. "Hurricane's not the place for a newcomer, 'specially on the water, where the bay's likely to flood. I came to take you home with me."

"I don't know. I'm not sure that's a good idea. I've got the bar to watch, and-"

"It's not a choice." She narrows her eyes. "It ain't about whatever happened between us. It's about keepin' you safe out here. Mr. Edja shoulda seen to that before he went back to the city." She grits her teeth a little at that, and though you feel a little defensive of your boss, you keep quiet. "Davey's comin' down with some boards later on, he'll take care of the windows here, but you're not risking your life for some clapboard building. Get what ya need, enough for a few days, and anything ya'd hate to have washed out to sea, just in case, and I'll be waiting down here for you."

It shocks you, how easily you bend to her will. But then, it shouldn't. The thought of this storm has your insides in a tailspin. Brittany had showed you the damage from the thirty-eight storm weeks ago, and being alone in your house, lifted up, maybe, like Dorothy in _The Wizard of Oz,_ sans ruby slippers, reduces you nearly to tears. So you turn away from her, those eyes, following after you, and you hurry up the stairs to your little apartment. You try not to think of spending the dark of night in close quarters with the girl that you have, these, feelings that you can't talk about for. You try not to think of her, noble and good, waiting for you outside, even when she's upset with you. You try not to think of things that make you fall, fall faster for her. The same type of things that you'd been down on your knees in church with your _abuelita_ and your mother, begging God's forgiveness for not two days ago. You try, but you fail. It's all you can think of, truly, as you quickly pack your small valise with your things. Your nightclothes, your day clothes, your toiletries, the family portrait, taken just before you father left for war that sits on your nightstand, the brooch your grandmother gave you on your sixteenth birthday, that most precious piece of jewelry, and, in a final thought, just before you lock the door behind you, the bowl of rice and beans your Mama sent back with you. Because you figure, maybe sharing the meal with Brittany is the only gesture of gratitude you can offer.

She's sitting on the edge of the dock, when you come down again, and she's quick to take your belongings, though you attempt to thwart her efforts. She leads you down a wooden pathway through the dark dune brush, and you jump at every sound. Every crash of the ocean, every creak of a board beneath your feet. You find yourself wishing she'd take your hand, that she'd tell you it will all be alright, but she doesn't. She just moves quickly, leading you through, while you hold the bowl tight in your grasp, until you reach a two story fishing cottage, boards covering the windows, and a boat, her boat, tethered in sand behind it.

"Home sweet home." There's a strange chirp to her voice, one you hardly recognize, and she opens the door, just as the first raindrops fall, big and heavy, on the wooden walk.

It's strange, the moment you enter. You and Brittany, you've been intimate. Brittany, she might be the best friend you've ever had in your life. And Brittany, she's told you that she loves you. But you've never been in her house. It's dark, you can't see a thing, so you breathe in. You smell it, strange as it may seem, you inhale this place she comes from, and you'd know, even if she didn't lead you here, that this was Brittany's. When she lights the lamp, the old fashioned type, since much of the island still hasn't been wired, it's not what you'd expected at all, save for the photographs of her, you assume, as a small child, an older boy carrying her on his shoulders, her brother. The photographs, of her father and mother, the woman she'd never met, on their wedding day. But the rest, it's mostly sparse, lonely, almost. Threadbare quilts covering the backs of furniture, dust, you think, in the curtains. It doesn't look impoverished, just dated, unkempt, like the people who live there come and go so quickly, they hardly notice the work that needs to be done inside. You're taking it all in, this place where Brittany lives, when a fat cat waddles down the stairs, and Brittany seems to light up in his presence.

"Lord Tubbington." She smiles, setting your belongings on the floor, and lifting him into her arms. "You're already inside, I was afraid I'd have to send a search party out for ya. We've got a guest tonight, it's Santana's first storm out here, so she's gonna ride it out with me and you."

"Where's your father?" You venture to ask, setting your dish down on the heavy oak table behind you. "He won't be coming home tonight?"

"He knows I got the Homefront covered." She tells you, and you think her voice hitches, maybe at the reminder of the war that still rages overseas. The war that took her brother, the war that keeps your father far from home. "He'll stay down at the terminal, him and Salty, the dog help out the Coast Guard. People do foolish things in a storm."

"I'd bet on that." You speak softly, looking into her eyes, before you quickly cast your gaze down again. "What can I do to help?"

"Not we can do now. We've just gotta stay inside and ride it out I got all the candles out, darker'n usual in here without the moonlight form the windows. Hauled down some extra blankets from the attic earlier. Now we just sit tight for awhile. There's a deck of cards, if ya wanna play?"

"Sure." You nod. "But are you hungry? I brought some of my _abuelita's_ rice and beans back…from home?"

" _Abuelita?"_ She screws up her forehead, and you remember. You remember that she doesn't know your other world. She doesn't know about Spanish words, flying across a crowded apartment. She doesn't know about your Mama working in the laundry and getting called words you think no one should say- though that, maybe she understands, just a little, about that, since she's heard the things they say about Michael, though he's not Japanese at all. She doesn't know much about the crosses and the prayers and the rosaries, so many rosaries, _Hail Mary, full of grace._ She doesn't know a lot of things, though, you still thinks she knows you better than anyone.

"My grandmother, it's-"

"Spanish." She nods. "I forget. Ya never speak it here."

"I have no one to speak it with."

"You could speak it to me." She offers, quiet, hesitant, and you feel that twisting in your chest, tighter, tighter,

"That wouldn't be fair, you wouldn't understand what I'm saying."

"There's lotsa things I don't understand." Brittany shrugs, and a shudder runs through you. Because you know, you know, the thing she understands least of all. You know that it's you.

Your conversation ceases. You spoon rice and beans from the bowl that belongs in your home in the city, onto chipped porcelain plates, blue and white, showing scenes of years past. Brittany pours milk into glasses. You sit across from each other at the table, and the only exchange is Brittany's compliment of your grandmother's meal. You play cards in silence too. Brittany deals, and you watch the way her hands fly in awe. You figured, really, that she'd played before, everyone does at the dock, though you're supposed to keep them from playing in the bar, but seeing her, it's different. Seeing her, fingers shuffling, practiced ease, it makes your skin flush. She's different. She's so different from you. And she's the same. She's the same, in all the wrong ways.

The rain falls harder outside. You hear it pattering against the metal door. You hear the angry ocean. You hear the wind whip through chokecherries and rattle the shutters. You hate it. You hate it so much. And you stiffen your spine, trying to keep from trembling visibly. Maybe it's silly and childish, but this storm has you beside yourself, that fear of the unknown really taking you.

"Gotta keep on the main floor of the house." Brittany tells you. "Pop says it's the safest. Glad we finally got ridda the outside toilet last year. Maybe someday we'll get wired out here, but an outhouse was a real bitch in the rain." She shakes her head, then realizes, she never uses her 'sailor mouth,' not when speaking directly to you, though you've heard profanities fly from her lips after a few beers with Michael and Davey. "Sorry, I try to keep my mouth clean in the presence of a lady."

"Britt." You swallow. Her calling you a lady, it's too much right now. "You're a lady too."

"Might be a girl, but ya know I'm not a lady. You're the one who fusses about what's proper and such."

"You've always been a proper lady to me." You speak it, soft, soft, avoiding her eyes. Avoiding the way she stares at you, contemplating what's next to say.

"I missed you, ya know." She blinks, like maybe she's trying to keep back emotion, but you're not sure. "When I thought ya left without saying goodbye t'me…"

"I'm sorry." It's all you can say. "You're the only person around here I'd have had to say goodbye to, but I was really confused, and I had to make a decision, about staying or going, and I thought seeing you would make it harder."

"Because?" Really, it's not a question. She knows why. But the reminder, it makes you bite down hard on your tongue. Feeling, feeling, all the things you're not supposed to feel.

"Yes."

"Okay." Brittany breathes in deep. "Well. I'm still glad ya came back."

"I am too." The air crackles around you, and you're convinced, really, that you're creating electricity. You're convinced, until the largest bolt of lightening flashes through the singular pane of glass above the door that remains unboarded, and you jump in alarm. It feels too close, too real, too much. The storm, and Brittany both.

"Sorry ya didn't wait a few days, I bet."

"I guess you just…end up where you're supposed to be."

Brittany shows you to the bathroom, the new peach tile a stark comparison to the rest of the house. A little hesitant, you slip out of your skirt and stockings. Brittany has touched you in ways no one else ever has before, but, the thought of her seeing in you in your satin pajamas, it ignites something strange within you. This isn't Freshman year sleepovers with the girls back home, before the infamous December morning that changed the world, yours and the larger both. This is you, in close quarters with your…your _lover._ There isn't another word, try as you might to find one somewhere in your extensive vocabulary. The things you've done with Brittany, they make her your lover, despite her gender, and your hands shake as you button up your top, your body shivers, as cool satin brushes your legs.

She's there, when you step out of the bathroom, wearing pajamas much like yours. Green, to your purple, the cut a little different, but, not what you'd expected at all. Truthfully, you don't know _what_ you'd expected her to wear, but seeing her like this, long hair braided down her back, bending over to pile blankets and pillows on the floor, you feel your throat go dry. You swallow, trying to moisten it, but it doesn't work. Not when she looks up at you, face bathed in the low light of the kerosene lamp that sits on the side table. Not when she offers you a soft smile, while she sets up two beds of blankets on the floor.

With a few words of goodnight, you settle down into the makeshift bed Brittany offers to you. You pull the blankets up to your chin, and you stare at the cracks in the ceiling, once your eyes adjust to the darkness. You avoid looking over at Brittany, probably already asleep. You avoid seeing her face in the night, the way only a _husband_ ever should. You pretend you haven't _already_ seen her in ways only meant for the one she marries. You pretend, you pretend she doesn't love you, and you don't love her too. _Blessed are thou, amongst sinners._ Until the thunder cracks, and you shriek, jumping up from where you lie.

"Santana!" Brittany bolts upright. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm fine." You clutch your heart, pounding, pounding in sheer terror against your ribs. The wind howls. The ocean roars. The rain pounds down. But nothing, nothing quite reaches the volume of your heartbeat when she closes the distance between you, and she presses her warm hands to your shoulders, a fruitless effort to calm you. "It's just thunder. Just thunder."

"Santana. Your heart's racing."

"I'm fine." You manage to get out, though the level of _fine_ you are lowers by the second, directly inversely proportional to her proximity to you.

Your eyes squeeze shut, but when you open them, hers are still level with yours. When you open them, her warm breath is still on your face. When you open them, the urge to kiss her, kiss her like you haven't in over a week, it still rushes through you. You try to fight it, because kissing her now, it's different. Kissing her now, you're certain will reveal your every feeling. But you fail. You fail miserably, as your lips find hers. Like coming home. Like a port in the storm, both literally and metaphorically. You swallow her gasp, when you open your mouth, bringing your hand to her face, begging her to reciprocate. And you gasp yourself, when she does, when she lifts you by your waist, pulling you up, so you're straddling her thighs. You kiss her, you kiss her, like you're dying of thirst, and she's the water you've been hunting for days. She kisses you back, hungry, for all that you are. _Pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death._

You're compelled, by desire, from some other force, you don't know which, and you can't even bring yourself to care, all the words to the prayers you've been repeating internally quickly forgotten, with a singular glance from Brittany. And you press her back, into the nest of blankets she'd made for you. Her eyes, the brightest thing in the darkness, they're trained on you, as your trembling fingers seek the buttons of her top, as you undo each one, and then, then you push the garment down her arms, leaving her bare beneath you. You've never seen her like this, every touch you've ever given her, it's been buried beneath clothes. But now, she's naked before you, and you're breathless. You can't hear the storm rage on outside, you, you can't hear anything at all. Not with Brittany. Brittany everywhere. Crawling under your skin. Oozing through your veins and into your heart. Burning into your optic nerves. Filling your lungs and your capillaries with every single breath you take of her soap, her saltwater skin, her utter _Brittanyness_. You need her. There's nothing within you that has ever possessed that type of strength, and you bring your lips to hers, succumbing, entirely to the inferno that blazes within you.

Brittany brings her hands back to your face, and she gets back on her knees. She studies you, like you're a skittish fawn on the beach- and perhaps you are, truly- before she undresses you. The sensation, bare skin on bare skin, her nipples, sending electric shocks through your body when they touch yours, her wetness on your thigh, as she kisses you again, again, it's unmatched. It makes your previous intimacies positively cold, comparatively. And you submit, fully, to your desire for more. You submit, fully, to her want too, all rational thought tossed to the whipping wind, never to be heard of again, as you map her bare skin with your fingertips, as you bury them inside of her, feeling her animalistic moan at your touch vibrates through you.

"I love you." You murmur into her neck, not ceasing your ministrations to her naked sex.

You don't know if she can even hear you, her body, rocking up into you, her things, trembling, trembling. But you say it anyway. You free the emotions trapped inside. You forget, forget the things that have always been taught to you. Or rather, you choose to let them go, you toss more than your caution out into the blowing stormwinds, things that had long been more a part of you, almost, than your own skin. You toss them away, sending them, perhaps, to some far off Oz, a place of arbitrary rules. Somewhere far away from you, and from Brittany, the girl you love, against all logic, against all reason, against all sense of propriety. And with her body, damp, warm against yours, her lips, pressed to your neck, you slip into another skin, a _new_ skin, one that feels more comfortable than your old one ever was.

"I love you too." You say it again, later, later, when you head falls, spent, against the downy pillow. You're answering what she'd said eight days ago, now that you know she's focused on you. You're telling her what she'd promised you didn't need to say. Her face, it contorts a little above you, at your words, like she's welling up inside, and she doesn't know how to manage it. The way you feel, every moment you're near her. The way you'd fought so hard _not_ to, and now, mere hours later, you can't imagine any other way. "I love you, and it scares me."

"I know." She lowers her head just a little, kidding the corner of your mouth, just as something cracking outside of the house jars you. Your eyes widen and your body tenses, but she takes you in her arms, her strong embrace sheltering you from the storm. Both storms, the one outside the door, and the one inside your head, they're quieter, quieter as she holds you close. They're quieter, even as you feel her nerves ripple through her, with the distraction gone. "Sleep now, pretty lady. You're safe here, I love you, and I gotcha, and nothing's gonna happen."


	5. I Know I'll Feel Loneliness No More

The storm passes. You'd dressed _after,_ in case, but you'd clung, the whole night, to Brittany. You'd clung to her, as you'd heard the windows rattle on the other side of the boards. You'd clung to her, as the house, it seemed to shake with every whip of wind, every slash of rain. But it passes, and in the morning, you emerge from her tucked away home. You walk with her, as she surveys the damage around. She holds your hand, when she can. She helps you over fallen pine boughs, over shutters from who knows where, over puddles from rain, from ocean, from swollen bay. You watch, as brow furrowed, she checks over her boat. It's safe, safe from damage. You help her, gathering up strewn furniture, improperly tied, by people less prepared than your Brittany. _Your Brittany._ Because she is now, after the night before. She's yours, heart, body, soul.

Once the outside of her home, it's cleaned up a little, you know where you have to go. _Your_ home. The bar. The marina. Brittany, she's nervous about it, you can tell. She knows, like you do, what'll happen, if it's damaged beyond repair. She knows, this new life you've decided on, it can be gone, in an instant. That thought, it makes your stomach feel like stones. It makes your heart, race, race, race, until you feel Brittany's hands on your shoulders, in the thicket of low brush, pulling you, close, close, until her breath tickles your face, and you have to freeze, just to breathe all of her in.

"I love you." She breathes, the soft wisps of seabreeze in the aftermath of the storm almost carrying her words away. It's the first time she's said it to you in the daylight. It's the first time that you don't hear the _Hail Mary's_ in your head drowning it out.

"I love you too." You watch, as her face, it shows this sort of wonderment. Saying it in public, or, at least outside, it's different than speaking it beneath the blankets. Still though, you feel it. You feel it so deeply that it seeps into your bones. Brittany Pierce, your starry eyed fishergirl, she's something else entirely. She's something so deserving of all your love. "We need to go and see if it's still there."

"The storm was bad, but not near 's bad 's thirty-eight. We'll take care of whatever needs to be taken care of, alright? Together." Hidden away, she presses her palm to your face, and she kisses you, gently, gently, her eyelids fluttering against yours. "Don't worry your pretty head."

"Okay." You concede. The idea of _together_ , it thrills you. It thrills you in a way that you know it shouldn't, but, it's Brittany, and really, you can't take your time thinking about all the _shouldn'ts._

She keeps a small distance between the two of you, as you step over branches and broken boards along the walkway. Your hand, it feels cold, strange, when it's not in hers, but you know it can't be, and instead, you hold her closer with your heart. When you reach the bay, you gasp, taken aback by what's in front of you. The water, it's risen, higher than you've ever seen, spilling up over the edge of the dock. The harbor, it's empty, everyone's boats somewhere in dry land, hopefully in shape as good as Brittany's. And people, there are people everywhere, in a way you hadn't expected. Greeting each other, checking on each other, already clearing away the branches and debris that litter what is essentially your front yard. It's a community, in the way you'd only sort of experienced in church on Sunday mornings. A community, where everyone who can is ready and willing to help each other. Briefly, you make eye contact with Brittany, before you approach the bar, and when you see it, door ajar, you swallow hard.

"Miss Lopez." Mr. Edja steps through, looking as if he's catching his breath, seeing you there. "You're alright."

"I am, sir." You nod, hands smoothing your skirt nervously as you meet his eyes. "Brittany was kind enough to invite me into her home last night."

"On the water is no place for anyone, let alone a newcomer." Brittany steps to your defense, in case you're in trouble for leaving the bar unattended.

"Of course, of course." He straightens his crooked tie. "My apologies for not knowing the weather before I left you here. I'm glad you had a friend who knew better than I did."

"So'm I." You look at Brittany, out of the corner of your eye. Her distrust of outsiders, it's apparent, when she takes in your boss. He's from the city, just like you are, but his visits, they're few and far between. He takes the money of the islanders with no problem, but he's not one of them, and leaving a girl in a storm, leaving _her_ girl in a storm (you shiver, the good kind, at that possessive preposition), that's not the way of the people here. "Made sure she was real safe, my house is smack in the middle of the island, furthest distance from both the ocean'n the bay. Pop's runnin' the ferry already then?"

"Captain Pierce's girl?" He eyes her, much as she eyes him, two people, from different worlds, and you in the middle.

"Right, sir." She wipes a hand on her trousers and then extends it to him. "Brittany, Brittany Pierce."

"Lawrence Edja. Your father says you frequent my bar, you and your crew. Impressive feat for a woman, handling a boat full of fishermen."

 _Impressive feat for anyone,_ you think, though you bite your tongue. This man, he was kind enough to give you a job, he's a friend of your father's, and you won't make an embarrassment of yourself, or risk losing your employment, as much as you want to speak out against his obvious disbelief that Brittany is capable of all she does.

"How's the building, Mr. Edja?" You speak instead, your fingers twitching, that longing for Brittany's hand in yours not fading.

"Lucky, it seems. A few missing shingles, and a broken window, but it seems structurally sound."

"Ya checked the roof, then?" She asks him, and you picture her, as she was earlier, trousers and shirt sleeves rolled as she claimed a ladder to check her own.

"I've got a fella coming to do it tomorrow, looks good from here."

"Ain't safe, 'specially if Santana'll be sleeping beneath it. Let me climb up and check it out for myself. If it's wrecked, I know a guy that'll fix it up for you quick."

"You fix roofs too?" Mr. Edja raises a suspicious brow, but Brittany shakes her head.

"I know if they're gonna fall down or not, but I don't do the fixing. Leave that t'Mr. Chang, finest carpenter on the island."

"Chang? Is that—" He begins, but Brittany's glare cuts him off.

"He's an American citizen, and his pop's from _China,_ not Japan, for that matter. Already been here two generations. Ain't his war my brother died for, _sir._ He's got a boy over there too, fighting on our side, and one who works for me, taking on his own war effort on the Homefront 'til his number comes up, _sir_."

You hear the sarcasm in that final word, but you don't blame her for it a bit. They may not have rounded them up in camps out on this coast, but you see it in the streets of your own city back home, men, women, children of any type of Oriental ancestry, being spit on, having obscenities spewed at them, ever since the day after Hawaii was bombed, and your country had gotten tangled up in this unending war. Mr. Edja doesn't speak another word, perhaps because Brittany's a woman, since you'd seen him put boys in their place and make them quake in their boots back when your father was home. He just nods at her request to check the roof, to check that _you're safe,_ you feel your heart catch in your throat at the thought of that, and you force yourself to tear your eyes from her lithe frame as she climbs the metal rungs attached to the building. Knowing you'll give yourself away, you retreat into the bar. You mop water from the floor, you check, finding that no glasses have been broken, and you sink against the bar, relief finally coming, and making your whole body shudder. The building is still standing, it hits you then. Your livelihood, the place that lets you stay here, here with Brittany, the storm didn't take it out to sea.

Time moves slowly, as Brittany works above you. She's got other things to do, you know. She's got to check on the Changs, the Karofsky's, the Abrams', who's son is the only one on Brittany's crew who's yet been drafted, and now that the storm's passed, she needs to get her boat back in the water and ready to be out there, fishing, as it's intended. But she's put you first, above all that, and for the first time, like in all the books you've read, you truly understand what it means to swoon. Your fingers, habitually, play with the thin gold cross around your neck, but you forget the verses about sinners and repentance that your _abuelita_ so favors. You forget about them, and instead, as your good hearted, beautiful fisher girl taps at shingles above you, you think the good ones, you think _love is patient and kind,_ you think _there is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment._

You hear her and Mr. Edja speaking outside, when she comes down. The roof is fine, everything's fine, and when he offers her a whiskey on the house for her kindness, you hear the slight hesitation in her voice, before she declines, and tells him she ought to get on, but peeks quickly inside to wave a quick goodbye to you. The day drags, really, as you sweep the floors and wash the windows, as Mr. Edja washes sand away from the dock and returns the wooden chairs to the deck in the back, before checking that you're alright one final time, and returning on the six o'clock ferry. You don't open the bar that night, you know there's no point, really, everyone's recovering and repairing, but Spencer and Mason, the bar boys, come in to help you with inventory, and to get ready for the next day. Around eight, you send them home, and you realize, beyond the soft-boiled eggs and toast Brittany offered you early this morning, you haven't eaten.

Heading up to your apartment for the first time, you're glad to see it's all intact, and you set about making yourself a little dinner. You've just about got the water up for dried pasta, when the tinkle of the doorbell you're not sure has ever been rung jars you. Unwilling to leave the stove unattended, you turn off the gas, and you smooth down your hair, hurrying down the stairs to answer the door. When you do, there's Brittany, dirt streaked across her face, pants ripped, and a big grin on her mouth.

"Evenin', pretty lady."

"Hi." Your breath catches at the sight of her. You can't explain it, this being in love thing, but your heart hammers and your hands sweat a little. "You want to come in?"

"I was hopin' so, but I don't want to interrupt, if you're busy."

"Not at all." You smile at her, you wonder if she sees the moons in your eyes. "I was just making some dinner, nothing fancy, but there'll be plenty, if you'd like some pasta."

"I was gonna see if I could pull some scallops up from the bay, if ya wanted to join me. But tryin' your food? That sounds even better."

As you lead her upstairs, you realize that she's never been inside your apartment, and though you keep it tidy, you suddenly find yourself getting self-conscious about the place. Brittany, luckily, doesn't seem to notice. She compliments the place, before taking you up on your offer to wash up in the bathroom, and then siting herself right down at your little table, making herself so much at home that your heart, it sings inside of your chest. She watches you, as you open jars of cannellini beans and stewed tomatoes, canned from the Victory Garden on the rooftop at home, as you quickly and carefully chop an onion, as you stir it all in a saucepan, channelling, as best you can, Mrs. Rosetti, from the apartment next door to you in the city. You're just about done, the pasta near boiled, and the aroma of tomatoes filling the whole apartment, when you feel a presence standing behind you, a hand on your hip, and you inhale as much air as you can, because Brittany in your space, it makes you dizzy, Brittany in your space, especially while you're doing something so… _domestic,_ it intensifies this deep longing for thing things you're not quite sure you'll ever be allowed to have together.

"Smells like ya cook as good as your Mama."

"When have you—" You begin, then you stop, remembering the meal you shared the night before, sitting at her table in her little house in the middle of the island, and your cheeks heat. "Oh, of course."

"Am I so forgettable?" She teases you a bit, and you feel her front press into your back, her lips graze your hairline. It shakes you, the way she touches you, body and soul. It shakes you, how much you want her, not just physically, but, like this, in your kitchen, as you hold a wooden spoon in your hand, with her long blonde hair let down, so it falls just above the swell of her bottom.

"No." Your voice is more raspy even than normal in your dry throat, her lips serving as quite a distraction. "You're not. You'll never be."

"Good, I'm glad for that." The vibrations of her speech thrum through your body, and after stirring the mixture in the pan once more, you cock your head to the side, finding her lips, kissing her, kissing her, deep, deep, the way you haven't been able to since naked beneath the blanket the night before. Her fingers tickle your side, your free hand, it tangles in her hair, and when she finally pulls her head back, you're weak in the knees. "Thanks for lettin' me up here, and for sharin' your food with me tonight, Santana. Haven't eaten since breakfast this mornin', it's been a day for sure."

"I haven't either, truth be told, I forgot about food. But I'm glad that you came when you did, I'm glad I could do this tonight, and…take care of you, like you've been taking care of me."

"What do you mean?" Brittany's brow furrows in question. "I haven't done all that much of anything."

"Letting me stay with you, checking the roof today…I just appreciate all that a lot, Brittany."

"That was nothin'." She shrugs it off quickly, and you close your eyes, thinking of how she does that when her hands are in her pockets, instead of around your waist, and love it as you do the other way, you're sure you like it more as she is now. "And besides, my motives weren't all selfless with that. Keepin' you here is awfully important to me."

"As long as I can manage it, I'm sticking around." You try to sound nonchalant, but your words, they feel weighty, your words, they almost beg her. Where just a day-and-a-half ago, you'd struggled with the decision to return to this desolate island, now, leaving scarcely seems like an option at all. You're rooted here, not so much to the bar, but to _her,_ her presence, stronger, even, than the call to the ocean that you'd only read about in storybooks. "And as much as I can manage, I'd like to take care of you, selfishly, or unselfishly, doesn't matter much to me."

"I think, love, that maybe we oughta take care of each other. You've been helpin' with all them babies your whole life, and I've been takin' care of Pop and my brother, since nearly before I could walk. So, if we share the taking care…"

"I think, I think I'd like that quite a lot."

You press her lips, just gently to Brittany's, before you have to disentangle yourself to drain the pasta, thinking, thinking hard, of helpmeets and things you'd never, not in your wildest dreams, imagined could be another woman. But here you are, with Brittany, cooking dinner, and feeling, more than ever, like this is the way you could live out your days. Not with the boy downstairs that your mother thinks could be a good match for your. Not with the son of the nurse at the hospital that your father wants you to court. Not in an apartment on the Bowery, with a mess of kids, like your Mama. But here, here in this place, on this island between the Great South Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Here, where you hear waves and crickets at night, and where this girl, this gorgeous girl, this girl who smells like saltwater and sunshine kisses you in the kitchen, and holds your hand beneath the stars. It's all you shouldn't want, and it's all you ever have.


	6. This Blessed Assurance Holding Me

As September grows later, you find the air growing chiller than it ever had so early back home. In the evenings, you can't go out without a sweater, and you know that your nights of walking down to the beach and laying in the sand with Brittany are coming to a close. As it is now, on the nights where she's not too tired, you're already buttoning up your sweater, already pulling on your warmer stockings, already preparing to fight against long months of wind and cold.  
Most nights now, she _is_ too tired to do much of anything.

It's striped bass season, she tells you. You're not entirely sure what that means, but when you look from behind the bar at the crews coming in, you see barrels of far bigger fish than they'd hauled in the warmer months. You see even the biggest men come in, bone weary and scarcely able to finish a single dark glass of bourbon, when just a month earlier, they'd knocked back three of four with ease.

On those nights, the nights where Brittany's bones hurt, she'll knock sometimes on the door to your apartment, stinking to the high heavens, and sometimes with a gash on her face, or lacerations on her hands. You don't like that much at all. She's used to it, she tells you, but that doesn't make it better. _Season's almost over, doll_ , she'll promise, as you set bowls of hot fish soup and thick slices of brown bread on the table. You can't wait for it, truly, though…it nags you, what the days will be like when she doesn't come off her boat. It nags you, what she's become to you, and how it can possibly continue come shut up winter.

Mr. Chang fixes your roof. It was mostly sound, Brittany had promised, but she wouldn't let Mr. Edja skimp on the repairs, not with you sleeping beneath it. You swoon inside, every time you hear Mr. Chang banging around above you. In all your fighting in your head about propriety, one thing is for certain, Brittany, lady or not, is the hero of your story. Brittany is your true love's kiss. She's the one who wakes you from a thousand years' slumber. Your lady knight in shining armor.

There's commotion at the marina one morning at the cusp of October, when Captain Pierce brings the mail in. Tossing the rag you'd been wiping down the bar with into the bin, you move slowly to the door. Despite Brittany, despite the friendly smiles and words of kindness dropped when you're pouring gin and making small talk, you're still an outsider here, so you tread carefully. You never want to appear to interested with the goings on outside. But the wailing woman catches your ear, and it would be against your very conscience not to check if there's some sort of thing you can do. The wailing woman makes your heart sink, because in these times, you've come to fear the very worst, especially when the mail comes in.

"Miss Lopez." Captain Pierce calls out your name when you slip through the open door, and you jolt, not expecting to be noticed so quickly. "A stiff brandy please."

"Yes. Yes, sir." You nod, voice catching, as his commanding presence always makes you nervous. Not because he's unkind, but, because _Brittany._

You're hasty in your work, pulling a clean glass from the crate, and filling it only halfway with ice, before tipping the amber liquid inside. You're certain the Captain asked for it to calm the woman's nerves, and with the way she clutched the letter in her hands, you think she needs it more than you hope to ever know. Much to your surprise, your hands shake as you carry the glass out to the docks. You're thinking of your father, brass buttons on his uniform shining under electric street lights. You're thinking too, of the boy in the pictures in Brittany's house, and the folded flag that sits on the living room table. You see them in the woman's face, and your heart, it aches.

"Nancy, drink this." Captain Pierce takes the glass from your hand, and presses it into the crying woman's. "It'll calm them jitters."

"Shot in the back!" She wails. "Shot in the back! He'll never walk again!"

"Hey now!" He booms, though there's still a sort of softness in his voice. "Consider yerself lucky, and him lucky too. He's comin' home, and he ain't in a bag."

"May well be! He's a fisherman, Nat! How'll he adapt to all this? What's your girl gon' do, wheel him onto her boat? Tug him along behind on a line?"

At the callousness of the woman's words, you have to suppress the gasp that rises up inside of you. You'd assumed her son for dead, of course, but he's not, thanks be to God, and here this woman is, saying he's better off that way. The look that crosses the Captain's face gives you pains, low in your belly, and you think of Brittany. You think of the dark sadness that crosses her face when she talks about her fallen brother. You think—

"Enough, Nancy!" Captain Pierce snaps. "Enougha all that nonsense! Ya think I'd'nt give everything to have m'boy back, chair or not? To have Mary back? He's comin' home, and ya oughta get all this outta ya now!"

"Alright, Cap. Let'er be." One of the older gentlemen steps up to him, and you watch Brittany's father fall back. You watch him pull a pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket. And then you avert your eyes, you back away slowly, because you realize that you shouldn't be watching at all.

"Miss Lopez." He startles you again, and you turn your attention from the bay and back to him. "Ya got the bar open."

"Yes, sir." You smooth your skirt, feeling like a child in Sunday school, reprimanded for daydreaming about far off lands and knights slaying dragons. "I'll head back in then."

"Good then. I could use a brandy myself."

Your hands shake harder as you walk back inside. The bar is empty, save for Brittany's father, and in the months you've spent on this island, you've never been alone in his presence. He's older than you'd thought, you realize, watching him take off his hat, his hair more salt than pepper, and his eyes, that same blue you know so well, they're tired, dull. He watches you as your pour his brandy, neat, always, and you use every ounce of will inside of you to keep from spilling it all over the bar, all over his deep navy uniform.

"I reckon she don't know better." He speaks, and you're not sure whether he's speaking to you, or just himself. "She never lost no one before. Her Ma and Pa still live up in her house. Her husband still works the docks. She don't know how much more no boy at all hurts more than a boy in a chair. And don't she know that the president of this whole fine country's got himself in a chair? If he can do that, sure 'nough the boy can find a way to make use of himself."

"I'm sorry, sir." You say it softly, unsure, and he looks up from where he swirls his drink in the glass. It's something you've learned, in your months here, that mostly, people don't come into a bar for a drink. Mostly they come for companionship, and mostly, when they talk to you, they're just looking for someone who will listen.

"Ya know my girl, right? She friendly with ya? Make sure ya don't find yerself in trouble?"

"I—" Your words get stuck in your throat. Speaking of Brittany out loud, to her father, no less, it sends vibrations through your body. Your _abuelita's_ words resonate in your mind again, except…except you're not speaking of the sin. You're just speaking of _her._ Of the girl you love. Of your very dearest friend. "Yes, Brittany's been most kind to me."

"Alright then. I told her to do's much. Told Larry he's a fool too, hirin' a girl out here. City girl 'specially, with this rowdy crew. No offense meant. But ya got a handle on it, and sounds like my girl's got a handle on makin' sure no one bothers ya."

"I've found nothing but kindness here. It's much appreciated."

The man just nods, and you take his silence as an invitation to step back and leave him be, as he nurses the drink in front of him. You feel flushed as you go to task unpacking clean glasses, and you find yourself fingering the cross beneath your collar. You can't help but try to listen, in the silence, to Brittany's father's thoughts. What would he think if he knew? Would he look upon you not with a sort of fondness, but disgust? And what about the others? Would people treat you as kindly as they have? You know it's not the place Brittany took you, where you were too scared to love her fully in the daylight, but, could you lay in bed with her at night, knowing that others knew how you loved, and still feel unafraid?

You shake your thoughts away as quickly as they come. It's foolish to dream such impossible things. Instead you think of your stolen kisses. You think of Brittany, stripped to her undergarments, nodding off in your big arm chair as you read Brontë aloud. Of her lingering in your apartment until she can't possibly stay another minute. Of her pressing her lips to yours after you tell her to stay safe in the morning. Of you watching in the evenings for her boat to come in, pretending to check something out on the porch, just so that you can catch a glimpse of her. Of the stars in her eyes that make everything so worth it.

Captain Pierce gets lost in the afternoon flurry, and you're so busy giving Spencer directions for the evening that you don't notice him slip out. You place his glass into the bucket of dirties when you notice that he's gone, and you scarcely spare your morning a thought, until you hear the horns of the first boats coming in. Those who sit at your bar during the day, they're old timers, mostly, men who've done their years out at sea. Their faces are weathered from sun and wind, but they're quiet, mostly, finding their companionship in hushed conversation, and in the static radio that plays the news from Europe and Asia.  
But that all changes when the boats come in. Even exhausted, the crews bring raucousness with them. Shouting, cussing, knocking hats off one another's heads in greeting, and most of all, bragging about their hauls for the day. Noisy as it is though, you always know when Brittany comes in. Something about the air changes. You'd always called it silly, when you'd read lines like that in your books, but it's true, and tonight, a wide grin splits her face as she pulls off her cap, revealing the crown of braids she keeps tucked beneath it.

"Evenin', Miss Santana." She steps up to the bar, resting her elbow on it. "How ya doin'?"

"Very well." Your face feels hot, and your skin flushes. The effect she has on you, it's too much. "How about you? Today's catch any good?"

"Pennies from Heaven today. Best season I've seen in my life. Drinks're on me tonight, for my whole crew." Her teeth show as she slides a five dollar bill across the counter. "And you too, if you'll join me for a whiskey sour. We've got a lot to celebrate!"

"I wish I could, but…" You wave your arm in the direction of the crowded room. She knows you can't, but still, she offers to buy you a drink every night, for politeness' sake. "I'll have a Schlitz once I close up here."

"Well alright then. Can't argue with a lady doin' her job. We'll have the usual."

It's a Thursday, so the bar quiets down early, everyone exhausted for the week. You're glad for it, truly, and when you send Mason on his way, you lock the door behind you, and peer around for Brittany. She's waiting, of course, by the stairs that lead up to your apartment, and she doesn't say a word as she follows you up. Before you even have the door closed though, she's pulling a folded paper from her pocket, and her big grin from the bar, it's back.

"Art's comin' home! Ya see this?" She holds the letter up to you, water stained and wrinkled. "No more worryin' about him over there! I've been waitin' all night to show ya!"

"It was big news out on the dock this morning." You tell her, cautiously, not sure you should tell her what had happened. "I wasn't sure it was your friend…"

"It is! I mean, he's hurt pretty bad, and he can't walk, sounds like, but he'll be back here! Oh, Santana, I can't wait for ya t' meet him!"

"I forgot you write each other all the time…" You trail off, a strange sort of _something_ bubbling up in your stomach, and making you taste a sourness at the back of your throat. You don't like it, you don't like feeling like that at all, and yet, you do. "I'm glad you're so excited."

"What'sa matter, doll? Ya look like ya seen a ghost or somethin'."

"Nothing's the matter." With a quick shake of the head, you try to recover your wits. "Just wondering if you're hungry. I was going to make a chicken. Mr. Cooper brought it over for me this morning."

"Sure! Chicken sounds swell!" There's still a questioning look on her face, but you turn away from her, you busy yourself, lest you explode.

You're quiet as you cook. You're quiet as you eat. But inside, your mind roars, inside, you're stomach squirms and wriggles. You can't put your finger on it completely, but you think this must be what jealously feels like. This is different, this Arthur thing. You know the other boys she spends time with. You know that David seems to be interested more in other boys than he would be in Brittany. You know Michael's parents are looking for a Chinese bride for him. But Arthur…

He's a war hero. He'll come back in his uniform, with ribbons and medals pinned on him, perhaps. He's been at Normandy, with Brittany's brother. He'd been all over Europe, fighting the Nazis, the fascists. He'd made a great sacrifice for the this great country, and, well, you're just _you_ , and it shakes you to the core to think that maybe this could be the man that Brittany marries. Maybe when he comes back, this _thing_ between you two will be pushed aside for her inevitable future.

"Is somethin' upsettin' you?" She asks you after dinner. You haven't made to pick up your book, you haven't uttered more than a few words, but you shake your head. "I'm not sure I believe ya."

"I'm just fine, Brittany." You put down your beer, and you fiddle with the dials on the radio, turning to NBC for _The Alan Young Show_ to fill in the silence. "Your program is on."

"Don't care much for listenin' tonight. I don't like when ya make like a clam and shut yourself all up like this. Scares me, like you're gonna go on and run away again."

"I'm not running anywhere. I made a commitment to Mr. Edja."

"Ya know what I'm talkin' about. Avoidin' me and all that. You're hardly talkin' tonight, and ya got somethin' in your head."

"I've just been thinking about you settling down, alright?" You blurt out, your stomach twisting and aching as you say it. "About Arthur coming home, and you marrying him."

"Me, marryin' _Art?_ " Her eyebrows fly up in surprise, and then, much to your ire, she starts laughing. "That's crazy talkin'. Why would I marry Art?"

"Because he's a war hero. Because you write him letters, and now he's coming home, and maybe he wants to do like all the other boys do and go on and get married."

"They go on and get married to chicks they're sweet on! They don't just pick 'em all willy nilly." Brittany stops her laughing, seeing the frustration on your face, and she stands to look at you fully. "Ya really think I wanna marry him?"

"I don't know what you want." You whisper. "I don't know if it's going to change things when he comes home, and that's so terrible of me to be worrying all about myself when he's coming home alive."

"Santana, Santana. Ya get your head all filled up with stuff I don't even understand. Course I love Art, he's been my friend since forever, but I love him like Davey, or my brother, or my Pop. I love only one person the kind of love that ya go marryin', and she's sittin' right here talkin' crazy."

"But—"

"But nothin'. You're my sweetheart, not Art. Don't go gettin' all scared about him comin' home, 'cuz I don't change nothin' for us, except you fin'lly get to meet him. I'll still be here with ya every night, and'll still wanna kiss you all the time."

With a sigh, you sink back into your chair, but before you can wallow, she's standing over you, hands on your knees, fingers fiddling with the pleats of your skirt. You look into her eyes, and you see it all there. You see it, and then when she leans down to kiss you, you feel it in her lips on yours, soft and sure, full of love that swells out from her chest. Wanting her closer, you tilt your chin up, and you set your arm on her lower back, kissing, kissing, until you feel dizzy.

"You're my sweetheart too." You admit, a whisper against her lips.

"No boys I oughta get jealous over? I dunno, I think maybe Chip was starin' at ya tonight." Brittany teases, twirling a lock of your hair between her fingers.

"Maybe he's got a ring for ya in his trouser pocket."

"Chip's smitten with Mary Ann Overton and you know it." You laugh, a real laugh, a relieved laugh. "Are you going to tease me about this forever?"

"Not forever, but at least for tonight. Ya gotta stop gettin' caught in your head. Just tell me when you're all twisted, so I can tell ya if it's silly or not. But if it's all about whether I wanna be with someone else, the answer is never. It's always gonna be you I love, my pretty city sweetheart."


	7. As Long You're With Me Let the Cold Wind

It gets cold quickly. It's the kind of cold that you're not sure how to handle. At night, when you're alone in your bed, and the wind pelts against the thin glass, you're sure that the whole building will come down. The bay roars and surges, and you're sure that you'll get swept out to sea. At night, when you're alone in bed, you dream of the warm fire in your parents' apartment in the city. You dream of wrapping an afghan around you and one of your little sisters, and forgetting the cold exists. You dream of your toes not aching, and the cloud of grey around the island not swallowing you up. You love Brittany, but you hate the nights you have to sleep alone. You love Brittany, but the cold is lonely.

She stays over as often as she can. She works long days in the shipyard now, her strong hands sanding wood, building boats, getting ready for spring. The shipyard is across the water, you can see it from your window on clear days, swaddled in grey. You can see it, and you wait, you wait, for the last ferry to come in, for her to come back to you. Brittany's boat is tucked safely in the wooden shed behind her house for the winter, so she takes the ferry. When Captain Pierce pulls in for the last time, you see her sitting beside him, warm cap covering her ears, a bright blue scarf you'd knit for her wrapped snugly around her neck. That's the warmest you feel all day, that first moment you see her, all grins and blue eyes.

Arthur Abrams comes home. Brittany, and David, and Michael throw him a party in the bar. You're working, of course, but you put on your best red dress, a new pair of stockings, and you wear lipstick. You haven't felt this dressed up in a long time, and the way Brittany looks at you across the room, you know that she notices. You know that she notices, and you feel that same warmth from the evenings, low in your belly.

"Let's go, Art!" She cheers, wheeling his high backed chair toward you. "'Bout time ya meet our very own Miss Lopez."

"Holy mackerel! This broad's a looker!" He winks at you, and your skin turns hot, eyes watering. "How's about ya turn around, Miss? I think I need another drink, one'a them whiskeys from the high shelf."

"Oh, I—" You stammer. You consider saying something rude, something you'd confess to God as you kneel at the foot of your bed later on, but you think better of t. Arthur is a hero. Arthur took a bullet in the back for your country. He deserves your respect, and so, you turn around.

You're on your toes, reaching for the good whiskey, up on top, and fighting the urge to cover your backside, when you hear a soft _thwack_ and an _ow, whatcha do that for?_ You bite back a smile, because you know exactly what it was, and you know _precisely_ what it was done for. Brittany, your Brittany, making sure you're treated with respect.

"Ya oughta apologize to her. She's'nt here for ya to be starin' at like that."

"Sheesh, Pierce, a guy's been in the trenches in Germany, ain't been a long time since I've seen a fine specimen of woman like that."

"Quit bein' a fool, Art, or I'll wheel ya right into the bay."

"It's alright." You tell her softly, turning around. You know she's joking with him, you know that that's how they all talk to each other, but still, you don't like it much. "No harm done."

"See." He shrugs, eying you again. "Don't bother her."

"I'll give ya a knuckle sandwich if ya don't apologize." She warns. "Us women don't like bein' treated like that."

" _Us women?"_ He mocks Brittany a little, and you're not sure whether or not he's teasing still. "Since when're ya callin' yourself a woman?"

"Since I was born one, ya numbskull. Stop makin' a scene."

"Why do ya c—" Arthur stops his sentence short, and you shiver, knowing that he's realized, but _not_ knowing the way he'll react. "Sorry 'bout that, Pierce. I didn't know."

"Ain't me ya need to apologize to." She takes the glass you set down on the bar for him, winking, as she drinks it herself, to promise you that it's okay.

"My apologies, Miss Lopez." He makes a show of taking his cap off and leaning forward in his chair, a bow, of sorts, before extending his hand. "Arthur Abrams, Pierce's oldest friend, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you for your service." You squeeze his hand, reassured by Brittany's presence. "I've heard so much about you, so I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance."

After you pour another drink for Arthur, and Brittany's fingers brush the back of your hand as she sets her glass down on the bar, and they go back over to their table. Down deep, you want so badly to ask him what it's like over there. You want to ask him if, by some miracle, he's met your father. You want to know everything that his letters to you don't tell. You want, really, truly, for some sort of divine intervention to tell you that your father, the good doctor, the good _man_ is going to be okay.

But you don't. You don't know him, and shouldn't he be made uncomfortable by your questions, you'd feel terrible if that were to happen. So instead, you clear the empty tables around them. You listen to him tell his war stories, and you wonder how much is reality, and how much he's embellished for his friends. You listen, and you wonder what kind of demons haunt him when he's alone, you wonder how much of the pain from his bullet wound that he hides, when he's not filled with whiskey and bravado.

He enjoys the little party, you think, and they stay until you're just about ready to close the bar. It's David, finally, who offers to wheel him on home, and they both lift their hats in your direction once their coats are on, and they're headed out the door. Brittany, for her part, starts ushering everyone else out. She grins at you as she does, and you have to look down, that wide grin proving just a bit too much for you to handle after the single drink you'd had about an hour ago. Finally, it's just the two of you. She turns the sign on the door, then the lock, before she struts to the bar, hopping up on a stool, and putting her elbows up.

"What what can I help ya with?"

"I'm nearly finished." You turn to straighten the bottles behind you. "Are you going home now?"

"I was hopin' not. You look awful pretty in that dress."

"Brittany." Her name comes out more like a kitten purr, and though you didn't mean it that way, it seems to have an affect on her.

"I like kissin' ya with your lipstick on too." She whispers, making you shiver.

"I'll be ready in just a moment."

You don't rush your work, though you wish to. You wipe the clean glasses, and you arrange them neatly. You wipe the counters once more. You sweep the floor. Brittany wants to help, but you don't let her. She's worked all day, that hard, physical labor she does. You don't need her to help you with your job. You just want her to sit. You want her to nurse that last whiskey you poured, taking a single from your tips to pay for it. You want to watch her eyes in the low light, as she watches you from across the room.

As you lock up the door, you're both quiet. You always are, in the still of the late evening, and you usher her up the back stairs before you. She has a little limp, you notice, though she didn't seem to earlier. Your brow furrows, but you don't say anything. If she wants to tell you that there's something bothering you, she'll tell you. She doesn't have to, but you certainly hope she does.

"I'm sorry Art was bein' like that before…" Brittany taps her fingers on the edge of your table, watching as you take out some leftovers to have for dinner.

"It's alright. It's probably part of the reason Mr. Edja ever agreed to hire me in the first place. I know he didn't mean any harm." You shake your head a little bit, and put two plates of cold chicken and cheese on the table. "Please don't worry about it."

"Okay." She nods. "Do ya mind if I stay tonight?"

"I'd mind more if you didn't."

Her eyes crinkle, and you reach across the table, putting your right hand on top of her left. It's cracked and calloused, both of her hands are, and you want to rub them smooth with your Pacquin's. They must hurt, you think, but Brittany doesn't complain. She never does, and as much as you love her, you admire her even more.

"Have ya been sorta sad lately?" She asks out of nowhere, and you look up from tracing the lines on her hand.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just wonderin'. Ya don't have to tell me if ya don't feel like it, but if I did somethin' to make ya feel that way…"

"Oh, no, it's not you at all." You shake your head quickly. "It's the cold, I think, that's making me feel a little low and homesick."

"Winters'll do that to ya." She looks at you, so much understanding on her face. "Do ya wish to be back in the city?"

"I…" Carefully, you consider your words. You do, and you don't. You _do_ wish to spend your nights cooking dinner beside your mother. You wish to read stories to the little girls. You wish to have one or two of them crawl into your bed for warmth in the middle of the night. But being back there means being away from Brittany. It means not seeing her, perhaps, ever again. It means having to go back to pretending you'd rather look at Gary Cooper than Ingrid Bergman. It means having to pretend you'd rather go dancing with the son of someone your mother knows than lay nose to nose with Brittany in the sand. Going home means you can't be _you_ anymore, and it means you can't be with _her._ Homesick as you are, that's something you could never give up. "I miss my family, and I'm a little lonely, but no. I wish to be with you, to be here. You make me so happy."

"I'm gonna try to keep doing that, so long as ya stay."

You push up and leans across the table. Brittany's hair falls loose from her braid, and you weaves your fingers through it, pulling her close to kiss her. When she stands in response, she wraps an arm around your waist, pressing her body into yours, her breasts soft against your own. She lifts you up, and your leg instinctively wraps around her waist. She does this sometimes, carries you to bed. It feels immensely romantic, the sort of thing you've never even read in your books—perhaps because it's the sort of thing that isn't written down, this passionate part of being in love, at least in books you can get from the library—and the sensation of being in her strong arms makes your stomach bubble and swoop.

Brittany likes to undress you. You've learned this, the few times you've been amorous with her in your apartment, the few nights you've known that you have absolutely privacy. Always, she starts by kissing your lips, then trailing her fingers down the column of your neck. She unbuttons your dress, and when the fabric falls away, her hands map what it leaves exposed. They're calloused and cracked, but they're gentle, so gentle as they cup your satin covered breasts, as they graze down your stomach, flattening on either side of your navel. She cherishes you with her hands, it's something that amazes you. She cherishes you, and you feel that familiar wetness pool between your legs.

"I love you." She murmurs, her lips on your clavicle while her nimble fingers unfasten the back of your bra. "I'll never letcha be lonely anymore."

"Brittany."

"I'd marry ya if I could, ya know?"

"What?" You startle, eyes widening. She stops kissing you, and she props her head up on her hand, staring.

"I'd marry _you._ I told ya back when ya had all that stuff about Art, that you're the only one I loved in the marrying kind of way, and I mean it.I'd buy ya a ring like my brother did. I'd save up my fishin' money to build us a great big house where you could see the ocean from the window. If find a way to get ya some babies. I'd do all those things for ya, and then you'd never have to be lonely again."

"Brittany."

Her name catches in your throat, thick with emotion. _Blessed art thou among sinners,_ pops into your head, and though, you think, it's wrong, it's _sacrilegious_ to think such solemn prayers about someone who isn't the Blessed Mother, about someone who lies over a half naked woman, you can't help yourself. She is your blessing, she is your dearest thing. Her words don't scare you because you've only know her half a year, her words don't scare you at all. They make you wish, wish, as hard as you could, on every shooting star, that somehow, some _way_ you could marry her someday. You know it's impossible—your _abuelita_ scolds even little Carlota in play, _girls marry boys, not other girls_ —but still, still, you wish.

"I'd give ya anything, ya know."

"I do know." You nod, your fingers playing with her buckle of her suspenders. "But that's not something you could give me, as much as you want to. It's the law, and it's God."

"I think it's awful foolish'a God. Why's he gotta make us love each other like man and woman, then say I can't marry you right up?"

"You can't call God foolish." You whisper, fingers grasping the crucifix at your throat. You want to tell her not just that she can't say that, but that God _isn't,_ but you can't make yourself. He feels that way lately, even as you sink to your knees and pray every night.

"Well he feels it. I don't know much about him, 'cause my Pop doesn't care so much for him, but I still think he's a fool. He took my mama, and my brother, and he makes a law that I can't marry my lady." Tears spring up in her eyes, and you've never seen her like this. She's brave and sure and steady, and you push yourself up, not bothering to cover yourself as you wrap your arms around her. "I don't want to lose ya, Santana. You're my very best thing."

"You won't lose me." You promise, kissing her lips over and over again, brushing away her tears. "I love you too much to ever go."

"What about gettin' married? Havin' babies? What about when the war's done?"

"What's making you so worried tonight, love?" You pull her hair loose from her braid, you watch it cascade down her back, and you press your hands to her chest.

"I don't like seein' ya sad, and I don't like thinkin' I'm keepin' ya from having everything you oughta. All the boys think you're the prettiest, and ya could have your pick of 'em all. Even one who lives here, and I could come visit you, and Mike, or Art, or Jesse. I'd even bring somethin' special for your babies, so long as you were happy."

"Brittany. Tears burn the back of your throat. You don't like to see her like this. You don't like that she doesn't see that she's all the world to you. She's the one, usually, who tells you it'll all be just fine. Somehow though, you and all the worrying in her head made _her_ worry, and you don't like it one bit. "There's never been anyone in the world I wanted to marry. Not until you. There's never going to be anyone else either. I won't just marry a man for the sake of marrying them, and I won't love any man, because I love _you._ Being with you is the only thing that's ever felt _right_ to me, and don't need a ring, or a piece of paper, or even God to tell me you're mine. I keep you inside of my heart. I don't need to marry you to know o know that I'll want _this_ always, however we can have, and even more, that I'll love you always."

"Will ya?"

"I will." It feels strangely like you've accepted a proposal, though you haven't, and she holds your cheek in her palm when she kisses you.

When she presses you back into your pillows, she's tender, but she's urgent. She's reverent, but she's desperate. She liberates you of your garter belt, and she slides your stockings down each leg, making you burn with each touch of her fingers. Then she covers your body with hers, still clothed, only her shirt untucked and her socks off. She kisses you, as she presses two fingers inside of you, and you arch up with each thrust of them, meeting her, matching her. She tells you she loves you in her sweetest voice, and she holds you while you shake and tremble. She adores you, and that's more than enough.

You're barely coherent when she gets up from the bed. You'd planned to undress her, to make love to her as well, but she's quick to her feet, borrowing one of your nightgowns from the top drawer, and going into the bathroom to wash up. It's unlike her, but perhaps she needs a moment. Perhaps she needs time to process how she'd been feeling just moments before she made love to you.

When she reemerges, you smile at her. Her face is red from scrubbing it clean—she likes your Woodbury soap, she's told you—and her hair is back in a single braid over her shoulder. Your nightgown is just a little short on her, but you think she looks like an angel. She perches on the edge of the bed, and you know you ought to get up. You ought to put your clothes in the hamper, and you ought to wash up for bed, before your lipstick and powder stain your linens. But just for a moment, you watch her. Just for a moment, you imagine you could be her wife, and she could be yours.

It's too hard to think of, so you get up. You pull an afghan around yourself, though with the draft in your apartment, your nipples peak, and you're sure they're still visible to Brittany. She watches you, and she smiles. She watches you with the look of a painter, and perhaps she _is_ painting you, somewhere in her mind, like you often do to her. She sees you with your makeup smeared on your face, she sees you with your once careful pin curls turned into frizzled ringlets. She sees you, and she smiles, because you're hers.

Brittany is beneath the covers when you come out of the bathroom. Tomorrow is Sunday, at least, and there's no rush to wake up. You love it most when she stays on Saturdays, because she doesn't have to leave before sunrise to get to work. You love it, because you can make her coffee, you can make her breakfast, you can kiss her all morning, with no responsibilities stopping you.

You get into bed beside her, and she rubs your nose with hers. You love that, those Eskimo kisses, and your eyelids flutter with affection. Your ankles tangle with hers, and when you feel her smooth skin brush against yours—even with the socks you wear to bed—and she wraps her arms around you. She holds you tight, and she kisses your neck. She's yours, and you're hers, and in the cold of your bedroom, the wind still whipping against the window panes, nothing else matters in the world.


	8. Dream Forever Under the Silvery Sky

The first snow falls. It's different then the snow that you're used to. In the city, it would snow while you slept, and you'd wake up to a layer of ash and soot covering it. You'd trudge through it to school, and by the time you got home and bundled the little girls up to take them to the park, it would be trampled and melted. But the snow here, it's beautiful. The snow here, it blankets the beach, the hull of Captain Pierce's ferry, pilings around the dock. It blankets everything, and it _stays_ making the cold feel suddenly like it's not so awful.

For Christmas, you go back to the city. You have to. You'd promised your mama, you'd promised the girls, and with your father away, you won't break that promise you'd made. The morning you leaves, Brittany rides the ferry with you. You can't kiss her there, you can't hold her hand, but she's there, and the brush of pinkies tells you Brittany isn't upset you have to go. It tells you that Brittany understands. It tells you that Brittany loves you anyway.

The taxi driver picks you up at the ferry dock, and through the window, you wave to Brittany in her wool cap and long coat. Her wave back is wistful, sad, almost, and looking around to make sure your driver has his eyes on the road, you bring your fingers to your lips. You throw her a kiss, and a grin spreads across her face as she catches it and puts it in her pocket. You love her. You love her so deeply, and the next four days without her, this _Christmas_ without her, is going to feel unbearable.

The city still smells the same. That's the first thing you notice, when you step off the train at Pennsylvania Station. It still smells the same, as you make your way downtown. It still smells the same as you walk up the stairs, valise in tow, to the apartment you've spent most of your life in. It still smells the same, but, much to your surprise, it doesn't smell like home anymore. The smell of home is different now. The smell of home is hair that's soaked in sun and salt. It's fish on the stove, and oil balm on gentle hands. It's a…a carnal sort of scent, after careful lovemaking. It's Brittany, Brittany, Brittany. Your home, your love, your everything.

You enjoy your time home. Of course you do, you'd missed them all dearly. You give your sisters the little trinkets you'd picked out from the mail order catalogue—Silly Putty and Slinkies, and even a View-Master for all of them to share. You sit by the fire with your mama at night, talking, talking for hours as you sip the Port her boss had given her for Christmas. It's hard for you to talk, truly, because the thing you want to talk about most, you _can't,_ but you tell her about the beach, about the bar, about _all_ of your friends there, Brittany and David and Michael and Arthur. You talk about your little apartment, about the war, about the letters from your father, and you listen to _her_ talk too. Though you're anxious to be back with Brittany, before the bay freezes over, like you fear, leaving is hard. Leaving means your won't see your mother and the little ones likely until spring. It's hard, because you'll miss them terribly, and you weep, even, as you kiss them all goodbye. You weep more, as your mother brings you back to the train station, hugging you tight, praying to God that you continue to remain safe so far away, thanking you for doing what you are to help your family.

It hard for you on the train ride back. You look out the window at the snow that blankets the ground, but your hands clutch pearl beads, counting them off with your thumbs, _Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._ You hear the Father Miguel's voice, fresh from the Christmas service, in your head, as your lips form the words of the Lord's Prayer, _Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day._ You hear it, and you squeeze your eyes shut, that pervasive sort of guilt washing over you. It's not guilt about Brittany, it's not even guilt about the unlawful carnal relationship you have with her. It's guilt over your mother, over the fact that you're lying, at least by omission, about your intentions of Fire Island. It's that you're glad to be helping to support your family, but if it weren't for the girl you love, the girl you'd mentioned in your days home only in passing, you'd be back in the city, shuffling to work in the dirty snow, making a living some other way.

But Brittany exists. Brittany has given you a reason to stay on the desolate winter island, and for that, you don't deserve your mother's praise. It's an act that helps your family, but it's not a selfless one. On the contrary, being with her is perhaps the most selfish thing you could do, and no amount of rosaries, no confession or prayer will make you feel sorry for knowing her.

When you get off the train, she's there at the depot. You see her through the grimy window of the train, hat is askance on her head, her coat pulled tight around her as she shuffles from foot to foot to keep warm. You ache to run to her, you ache leap into her arms and kiss her. You just ache for _her,_ all over. You smell diesel and sea air as you step off the train, and when the frigid winter wind whips through your hair, you pull your coat tighter around your body. As you step toward her, you keep your composure, but when she grins, you're weak in the knees.

"Afternoon, pretty lady."

"Brittany." The wind suddenly stings you less, as you feel the heat creep up your neck. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Pop's shuttin' down the ferry. We've got a blizzard comin' in tonight."

"He's shutting down the ferry now?" Your eyes widen. "What are we…? How are we…?"

"Mr. Brewster at the yard's gonna shuttle the boys back in about an hour. I made sure there was room for one more."

At Brittany's thoughtfulness, your stomach flutters. You hadn't even thought of the possibility of Captain Pierce not running the ferry. That boat is the lifeline of the island, he's steady as a rock, and once the fluttering over Brittany stops, you feel a leaden ball form. You think of the hurricane, and how terribly afraid you were. You think of what would have happened had Brittany not come for you. You think and think, you think too much, until you feel Brittany's strong hand grip your wrist.

"Visibility'll be too low, and the winds'll whip, but winter storms ain't nothin' like hurricane season. Pop'll be out at the wharf in case anyone needs help, best thing's if we go back to my house, get a fire ready, and wait it out."

"Okay." You nod, clutching your bag at my side. "I'd like to stop at my apartment though, if that's alright."

"We've got plenty'a time, sweetheart, that's just fine."

You let her keep her hand on your wrist as she guides you to a red Packard parked in the lot. You hadn't really considered that she'd know how to drive a car, but considering she captains a boat, it shouldn't surprise you so much. As she takes your things and puts them in the backseat, she tells you that Mr. Brewster let her borrow his car to come and get you. You wonder, as you always do, who she told him you were. You wonder if she says as you do, back at home, your _dear friend._ Or you wonder, maybe, if she just refers to you by your profession, _Miss Lopez, the bartender at The Casino._ You wonder, you wonder, until Brittany puts her gloved hand on top of yours in the center of the seat, lacing her fingers with yours.

It's something you'd never really given any thought to, holding Brittany's hand like this in the car. You know some of the girls back in the city, they'd gushed about riding in the car with their suitors, but you think they thought of it, mostly, as knowing that the boy had money to afford one. You might be wrong, you'd never given much mind to the idle chatter about such things, but you don't think they found a thrill in _this,_ in a strong hand sitting atop their own, in breathing in the closeness of someone they care so deeply about, in every small thing you feel when Brittany is in your proximity.

It's a short drive, just five minutes to the shipyard, and when you arrive, Brittany opens your door and takes your bags for you. You walk inside of the building, and the volume startles you. You're used to the bar being boisterous, but in a place of business, it's surprising. You look around, and you know some of the boys. They're rowdy, you guess, because they're getting off early this afternoon, and you stand off in the corner, listening. There's a tall man in a suit at the desk, and he looks over his glasses, over you a smile and a twinkle of his green eyes. It's not flirtatious, and in a room full of men, you find yourself appreciative of that, so you give him a smile and a nod back.

When Mr. Brewster comes in, everyone files out the back door to a fishing boat. Brittany stays close to your side, and she offers you a hand up onto the deck. She stands behind you as you grip the railings, glad for your leather gloves that let you grip it easier. The bay is icy, and it looks angry beneath the dark grey sky, but with Brittany beside you, you don't feel any sort of impending danger. It seems to be that way with everything, her presence gives you a safety and security that you didn't think possible so far from home. Her presence settles something deep within you, something you didn't even need settling.

"I'll run down to the wharf to check in with my Pop while you're getting things ready." Brittany tells you, when you make landfall on the island. "If that's okay."

"That's fine." You nod, fishing in your clutch for your keys. "It shouldn't take me too long."

"Take as long as you need." She promises, then she looks around, before dropping her voice to a whisper. _"I love you."_

You just smile softly at her. She knows, in the way you look at her, how much she loves you. She knows, because there may be no fact in the world more indisputable than those three words. She knows, and you feel her eyes on her as you turn toward the stairs.

When you get inside, you look around at your apartment. You've only been gone a few days, but there's an odd sort of relief being back. A relief, because this is _your_ space. This is perhaps the only place in the world where you can be truly authentic. Quickly, you begin to unpack your things, hanging your church clothes and your Christmas dinner clothes in the wardrobe and replacing them in your valise with more appropriate clothing. Once you've changed out of your travel outfit, and into a new skirt and sweater, you open the top drawer of your bureau, and you pull out the newsprint wrapped package there. Carefully, you tuck it among the things you'll take with you to Brittany's, and when she knocks on the door, you lift your bag, ready to leave before the angry skies break open and spill snow.

"I'm set to go." You tell her, pulling your coat back down from the hook and slipping into it.

"Can I come in and give ya the kiss I've been waitin' on givin' ya for four days?"

"Oh." Your neck heats up again, and your eyes flick down to her lips. You've been waiting too, you've been thinking about it, and even a brewing storm can't keep you from stepping back into the apartment, letting her in, wrapping your arms around her neck, and sinking into the kiss she gives you. "It's good to be home."

"Home." Brittany murmurs softly, her cold hand pressing against your face. "I'm real glad ya made it home too."

You stay like that just for a moment, her coat smelling of Lucky Strikes from the wharf, of cold, of _her,_ and you close your eyes, taking a deep breath of it. When you finally take a step back, you do your buttons, and she lifts your bag, insistent, as she always is, that you let her carry it. Beside her, you walk over the wooden-slatted pathway through the pines, and back to her house.

It's not often you come back this way. She spends most of her time at your apartment, where you can have privacy, but there's a sense of familiarity when you walk in. There's a sort of musty beach smell, one you've never smelled anywhere else, and the dim grey light oozes in through streaked grey windows. Firewood is stacked up by the old iron stove, and it doesn't take long before Brittany's cat finds you, sidling up to your legs, fur sticking up every which way once the friction against your nylon causes a static reaction.

Brittany brings your valise upstairs. The last time you'd spent the night here, it was on that mattress on the living room floor, but tonight, tonight there's nothing that's meant to keep you from sleeping upstairs. Tonight, you'll sleep beside Brittany in her bed, a place you've never been before.

When you walk into the room, you run your fingers over the careworn quilt on her bed. A photograph of her brother sits atop the bureau, smiling with all of his teeth, his uniform pressed, his buttons shiny. Your mother, she keeps your father's army portrait on the mantle, so you're surprised that this is the first you've seen of Brittany's brother in his uniform, but when you notice the Purple Heart that lays beside it, when you see the photograph beside it, the woman in white, you understand why. You understand that some things are best kept in private. Some things are best kept where you don't have to explain them.

"Pop's got his flag." She tells you, by way of explanation. "He let me keep his medal, said he'd've wanted me to keep it. I think if he was wantin' things, he'd've not wanted one at all."

"Brittany." You whisper, unsure of what else to say.

"I though about goin' with him, ya know. Learnin' to be a nurse, or somethin'. But he didn't want me to leave Pop all alone."

"I…" A pang hits you hard in your chest at the thought, and you snap your mouth shut again.

"Have you hear from your Pop lately?"

"I got a letter from him just before Christmas. He's in France still. He doesn't tell me much about the fighting over there. He mostly writes about the people he meets, and lets me know what he thinks of the books I send him."

"That's for the best, I'd say."

"It is." You nod, looking back to the medal on the chest of drawers. "I just want it to be over."

"What happens when it's over, Santana? What happens when the boys all come home?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens to me 'n' you? What'll ya do when your Pop comes back home? Are ya gonna go back home?"

"I—" You shake your head, you shake it back and forth. "I think this is home now. _You're_ home to me. I don't think I could go back without you if I tried. If Mr. Edja let's me go, then…I don't know. I'll figure out a way to stay here, if you were serious about all those things we talked about a few weeks back."

"I better get started on buildin' ya that house then." A slow smile spreads across her mouth, and you suck in a breath.

"I don't expect you to take care of me, Brittany. I took typing courses in school. Maybe I could get a job at the school in Ocean Beach, or I could take the ferry back and forth each day and work on the mainland. I don't know, I haven't given it much thought. It feels like the war might never end. But I'll find a way to stay, no matter what."

"I would, ya know."

"What?"

"Take care'a ya. Buy ya pretty things, make sure ya were really happy that ya stayed with me."

"I don't need pretty things to know that I'd be happy that I stayed with you." You step closer, and you press your hand to the side of her face, looking into ocean blue eyes. "You make me happy enough."

"I did already buy ya somethin' pretty."

"You did?"

"It was Christmas and all." She shrugs. "I wanted to take a walk on the beach and give it to ya, before the storm comes, if ya wanted to."

You nod. It's all you can manage to accomplish. The idea that she'd buy you something pretty makes your knees turn to gelatin. She's something else, deep within your soul, you know that she's the most special kind of something else. Not because she bought you something, but because she just thinks of you. She sees you. She knows you. You close your eyes again, just for another moment. You think of what she'd said about loving you like man and woman are supposed to love each other. You think of the picture she'd painted in your mind. The picture of a house all your own, where she'd come home each night from the water to you. The picture of a life, where it's you and her, together always. You think of it, and you know it's real, you know it's more than just a picture.

You're quiet as you put your warm things on. You tuck the newsprint wrapped package beneath your coat, and you go back downstairs. Brittany opens the door for you, blanket in hand, and you step out into the blister-cold air. Snow had started falling, not thick, heavy bits, but flurries, fluttering down and landing in the brush along the walkway. You look at Brittany then, flakes settling on her hat, on her eye lashes, on the shoulders of her coat, on the golden braid that falls down her back. You look at her, and you're taken by her beauty.

The sand crunches beneath your boots when you reach the beach, and though sometimes, you long for the summer days, for her chasing you into moonlit waves and dancing beneath the stars, where no one can see you, there's something stunning about this as well. Something stunning about the stark, windswept beach, and something stunning about having it in the daylight hours, all to yourself.

Just past the dunes, Brittany spreads the blanket out, and when she sits, you follow her. She takes your hands immediately and settles them between her knees, knowing that they get cold, even with your gloves on. You turn to face her, and you study her face. Her cheeks are red and chapped, and her chin has a scrape, probably from something at the shipyard, but her eyes still sparkle, her eyes still never fail to reveal the depth of her love for you.

"Ocean's churnin' somethin' ugly." She looks out to the horizon line and purses her lips. "I don't know how some've then fellas up North'll fish all winter long. I wouldn't want'a be out there in this."

"I'm sure glad you're not either. I worry enough when you're out there in the sunshine."

"You ain't got nothin' to worry about ya know. We're real safe, and the Coast Guard's all up and down these waters all day long."

"Still." You shrug, feeling a twist in your stomach at the thought of something ever happening to her. "I feel an awful lot better when you're on land."

"Bein' on land means I get to hold your hands like this, so I've got'a say, I favor it too."

"You're always full of charm, aren't you."

"Not much, just want to say sweet things to my girl."

"I love being your girl, Brittany." You lean your head on her shoulder, an icy wind whipping off the ocean and biting your face. "So much."

"I hope ya like this gift I got." She reaches into the pocket of her coat, and hands you a small package wrapped in butcher paper. "I had the salesgirl at Woolworth's help me."

The box feels so delicate, and when you take it from Brittany's hands, you hear something slide inside. As carefully as you can in your gloves, you unwrap the brown paper, and lift the lid of the box, sucking in frigid air as you reveal a silver bracelet. You've seen ones like it before, some of the girls in your high school had worn them, but your family never had the kind of money to spend on adornments like this. Slowly, you cock your head toward Brittany, and you feel her studying your reaction. Eyes on her still, you lift it out, and you study the three charms that adorn the link bracelet. A boat and a heart, dangling in silver.

"Brittany…this is…it's too much." You fight the urge to push it back to her, to tell her she needs to take it back to the store, to get her money back, because there's far more important things she could be spending it on.

"Do ya not like it? The salesgirl said that lots'a girls are wearin' them, and I thought…"

"No, no." You shake your head. "I _love_ it. It's so beautiful, but it's just too much. You shouldn't have bought me something so nice."

"I wanted to. I told ya, I want to buy ya pretty things. I picked out the boat, because'a me, the heart, because I love you, and the flag, so you don't feel so sad about your pop bein' so far away."

"I didn't…I didn't get you anything even close to as nice." Biting your lip, you take your package out from under your coat. Her thoughtfulness has you reeling, and you struggle to keep it together.

"You got me a gift?" Brittany's eyes widen, and she looks at you, watching your one hand still finger the bracelet, while the other thrusts her gift toward her. You're embarrassed, mostly, that she's given you something so nice, so _expensive,_ and what you have is scarcely comparable. "I've never gotten a Christmas gift before."

"You…what?"

"My pop always bought us what we needed." She shrugs. "He's not so much about the holiday time. I guess they remind him of my ma too much."

"It's…it's not that much. If I'd have known…" You stumble over your words. You're not sure what you'd have gotten her if you'd known. You're not sure what else you could have done to give her _Christmas,_ but you squirm as she undoes the wrapping. You squirm, because you feel like kind of a dummy. "I made it for you."

"You made this?" Brittany unfolds the scarf you made her, spending long mornings knitting the soft, bright blue yarn you'd gotten from the mail order catalogue. Her gloved fingers play with the material, and you watch her, nervous, cautious. "Maybe I'm all soppy 'cause I'm sweet on ya, but this is swanky!"

"I'd have got you something else, but—"

"Why'd ya've gotten me somethin' else?" She wraps the scarf around her neck, twisting the ends. "I've been needin' a new warm scarf, and it's even better, havin' one you knitted for me. Thank you Santana, I'll keep it always."

"It's just a scarf." You shrug, still feeling she lush about the whole thing. She looks at you though, she looks so deep into you, and you shiver.

"It's a real nice scarf, and most importantly, it's a scarf ya made for me, the most special part of it."

She leans over then, and for a moment, you think she's going to kiss your lips, right there on the beach in the daylight. But she doesn't, instead, she presses them to your forehead. She lets them linger there, a certain sort of intimacy, and this deep, deep love for you. It makes your chest ache, when it hits you, it makes your pulse quicken, and your palms twitch. You long to kiss her here, you long to press your hands to face as the snow falls, and the wind whips around you. You long to just…give her so many things you can't, you long to give her everything she's never had. You long for _her,_ even as she sits right beside you.

But instead, you let her take off her glove and fasten your bracelet for you. You let her fingers graze the back of your hand, and then you pull your coat more tightly around yourself and you look out at the sea. Breathing in the sea air, with Brittany so close to you, you feel this sense of _belonging._ This sense that no one can ever drag you away from here, because your soul has been firmly rooted to this windswept island. From the water before you, you bring your eyes back to the bracelet, and you take another deep breath. A boat and a heart, because while your soul is rooted here, your heart goes with her, each and every time she goes out to sea.

"Snow's gettin' heavy, and it's startin' t'get dark. We oughta make our way back up to the house."

Another shiver runs through you, this time from the cold, seeping beneath your nylons, and you nod, letting her offer you a hand to help you back to your feet. She hooks her arm with yours, and together, you leave the beach. Your fingers wrap around the empty bracelet box is your pocket, and you feel a flutter in your chest again. You feel this _specialness,_ for lack of a better word. You feel such a deep sense of gratitude that your starry eyed fishergirl found you, that she loves you, that she wants to be with you, for as long as your time on earth will allow.

When you get back inside of Brittany's house, you brush the snow off in the doorway. Your coat has protected you from most of the dampness outside, but your face is smeared with makeup, and your cheeks are chapped from the ice that blows of the ocean. Lord Tubbington skulks in the foyer, and while you slip out of your winter coat, you watch Brittany fold her new scarf is such a reverent way that your chest pangs.

The storm picks up as Brittany heats up navy beans and toast for dinner. It's something you still struggle to get used to, the way every wind shakes the buildings here, so different from your brick apartment on Hester Street, but it's a reality. The clapboards don't keep out the cold the same, and they certainly don't seem to stand as sturdy as the wind blows. Still though, you're safe. Brittany lights a fire, and when you're through eating, you scrub yourself clean, and you change into your pajamas, pulling a sweater over them for extra warmth.

It doesn't take long before the cold proves to much for you to bear. You manage to make it to the end of _The Adele Clark Show,_ sharing the fig pudding you'd brought back from the city, but when it closes, even Brittany can tell you're ready for bed, and she turns the radio off. When you go upstairs to her bedroom, you carefully unhook your bracelet and lay it on the bureau for safekeeping, before you crawl beneath the quilts on her bed, glad for the warmth they provide. Outside the window, you see nothing but snow in the darkness, and while you wait for Brittany to get into bed with you, you close your eyes and pray, hands folded, your mouth moving, but no words coming out.

 _Dear God, please watch over Papa. Keep him safe and bring him home. Watch over Mama and the little girls, and Abuelita too. And please, please keep Brittany safe every day she goes out on the water, or she works with dangerous machinery in the boatyard. Please don't allow my sin to cast a shadow over her well being. And please, please forgive me because I cannot give up the love I have for her, nor do I want you to make me capable of that._

You say four Hail Marys, and the Apostles' Creed before you feel the bed sink beside you. You don't open your eyes, but finish your list of prayers as you feel Brittany's chin on your shoulder. When you say your final _Amen,_ you breathe in deeply, before you turn to face her, opening your eyes to her bright blue. She doesn't ask about your prayers, she never does, she just opens your arms, and lets you curl in closer to her. You savor this feeling, her arms around you, the _safety_ they provide as the storm rattles the windows and the snow blankets the world outside.

"Ya warm enough now, Santana?"

"Mmhm." You murmur. "Very warm."

"Are ya sure? 'Cause I can get ya another blanket from downstairs. I know ya have two on your bed."

"No, I'm alright, I promise. I hope I'm not stealing all of your body heat."

"Not one bit. I'm just real glad ya made it back home tonight. I missed ya a lot."

"I missed you too. I wish I could have spent Christmas with you…"

"'S'alright. Ya haven't seen your family in awhile, and I got to have Christmas with ya today. I really love my scarf, y'know. I'll be wearing it everyday."

"Next year, I'll give you a real Christmas." You murmur, a promise you're sure that you'll keep.

"Next year." She smiles. "I'm so glad you're back, Santana."

"And I'm so glad I'm home."


	9. Always a Heartbeat From Me

In late winter, the snow begins to melt. You watch from the bar window as Brittany, David and Michael get The Alcott back in the water. You watch as she undoes her coat, even in the cold, and she kneels over the hull, scrubbing the grime of winter from the deck. You watch as she ties lines, hauls water, and hoists the sales. You watch, and you feel this heavy sort of sadness that comes from her. It's been nearly a year, you know, since her brother left for Europe, the strong young man in brass buttons and a charming smile. It's been nearly a year since she last said farewell to him. Nearly a year since he promised her a speedy return, only to lose his life on a bloody beach four months later.

Your heart aches for her. You don't know what it feels like to be the surviving child, to live out the legacy meant for another, to work each day on a boat that shouldn't have been yours. You don't know, but you try to understand. You try to soothe her at night without words, you kiss the crown of her head, you dig your thumbs into the tightened muscles of her shoulders, and you love her, you love with with all you have.

At night, you listen to the radio. You weep as you hear of the German army is in retreat, you weep as your mind races, unable to imagine the atrocities that have happened halfway across the world. Things are changing in Europe, big things. A year ago, you'd believed the war might never end, but now, you feel it closer than ever. Now, you wonder what will happen, when everything turns right side up again.

"I want to go to Arlington." Brittany whispers to you, late one night, her nose pressed to yours. "We didn't go down for'is funeral. Pop didn't want to go, and doesn't wan'to go now, but I think I need'ta see where he is."

"Can you?"

"I asked around, I can take the train to New York, and then another down to Virginia. I can call down and get a hotel for the night, then come on back up the next morning. I know 't's a lot, but…I think I ought to."

"Then you should." You find her hand beneath the sheets, and you squeeze it, you squeeze it hard.

"I know ya have work, and things, but do ya think maybe…if I went down on a Sunday, and got back b'fore the bar was to open Monday…do ya think ya might think about comin' with me?"

"Brittany." You breathe, once again feeling the gravity of your relationship with this woman, once again feeling just how deep your feelings run.

"If ya don't want to, I won't be sore, or nothin'…"

"I do." You murmur, pressing your thumb against her palm. "Whenever you want to go, I'll be there with you."

"Thank ya." Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and you lean in, gently kissing them away. "Thank ya so much."

Brittany makes the arrangements. She refuses your money, when you offer it up to her for train tickets and for the hotel. But she asks for your help, when she comes over, carrying a black dress. Patiently, she stands while you take in the sides and take out the sleeves and hem. You're careful not to prick her, you're careful to be gentle when she fidgets. And then you step back, taking in her solemn demeanor.

You're set to leave at four-fifteen in the morning. David agreed to take you across the bay before Captain Pierce does the first ferry run, and you wake up at three-thirty, taking pains with pinning your hair back. It's biting cold, when you step out into the morning air, valise in hand, but when you see Brittany in her black dress, heavy coat unbuttoned, your homemade hat covering her head, hands twisted in front of her, you feel a certain warmth rise up in you. You want to go to her, you want to take her into your embrace, to kiss away her sad eyes, but you can't. Instead, you give her a small nod, and you step quickly toward the edge of the dock, accepting David's hand when he helps you down onto the dinghy.

A taxi takes you from the dock to the train station, and when you arrive, you remember that Brittany has never ridden the train before, you remember that she's never set foot in the city that brought you up. She presses her face to the window, eyes wide, as the winter-washed terrain whizzes past, and she breathes in the scent of diesel. You sit quietly beside her, watching, and every so often, she turns to give you a small, tired smile.

When you arrive in the city, you wish you could take Brittany somewhere. To Strand, perhaps, where she could meander with you between the shelves, turning the pages of Betty Smith, hiding Lillian Smith behind a National Geographic, because you fear someone seeing you read it. To Russ and Daughters, maybe, where you'd introduce her to knish, something your mother just can't get her brain around. To the Navy Yard, possibly, where she'd take interest in watching the great steel ships being built. But more than anything, you wish to take her home. You wish to walk through the door with her, and tell your Mama you've fallen in love. You wish for her to bring out her wedding dress after everyone else has gone to bed, and to speak to you in the darkness, a hurried Spanish whisper, about when you think your day will come to wear it.

It's fanciful thinking, you know that much. You've married Brittany in your heart all those months back, but there won't be a white dress, or a cake, or Father Tómas, blessing your union. Those things, they're not what you wish for, truly, but to have your mother know the truth about who Brittany is, you'd love that more, perhaps, than anything.

You brush those thoughts aside as you board the train. You've only taken a journey this great once. You were twelve, and your Tia Alba was gravely ill in Chicago. Your mother, with little Nina just weeks old, couldn't make the trip, so she'd sent you. Your shoes were shined, and your hair was braided, and you'd sat, still as a statue, watching the great sea of green grass roll by you, sleeping straight up, as the train rolled overnight. You were a child still, but you were the oldest, and when you arrived at Alba's, she was already with God. You stayed a single night, with six-week old Concetta in bed with you, and when you awoke the next morning, Tio Sebastián had handed you two bundles, one of clothing and diapers, and the other, the baby.

"I brought Concetta on the train from Chicago when she was a baby." You find yourself telling Brittany. "I think she was as afraid as I was, she barely whimpered for the entire day long trip."

"Concetta, your little sister? Why was she in Chicago?" Brittany turns from the window to look at you, fidgeting with her nylons.

"She was my cousin, before Mama and Papa took her in. When my aunt passed away, she was raised like Nina's twin. She's only two weeks older."

"Hm. That was awful nice of your Mama and Papa."

"Just the way things are done, I suppose." You shrug. "You'd like her a lot, Mama says she's just like my _tia._ "

"Maybe I'll get to meet her someday…"

"Maybe so." You sigh wistfully, watching your city disappear out the window. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sad, ya know? I wish Pop'd wanted to come see it. I know he ain't there, but…now that they're liberatin' the camps and it's almost over…"

"He'd know he'd died for something worthwhile."

"So pretty out there." Brittany changes the subject quickly, and you give her hand a quick, undetectable squeeze.

"It is. Nice way to see the country, I think."

You fall asleep on the train. You'd hardly slept last night, and the scenery whizzing by lulls you. When train screeches to a halt in Arlington, you wake with a start. You look over at Brittany, your starry-eyed fishergirl, and she's biting her lip, nails digging into her thigh. She'll rip her nylons, you think, but you don't say a word. She has a right to be nervous, she has _every_ right to be nervous, and you meet her eyes before you stand.

Another taxi cab takes you to the cemetery. Brittany asks the driver to wait, and he nods, tipping his cap to her. In her hand, she clutches a piece of paper, and you follow a few steps behind as she walks through row after row of flag lined final resting places. She stops abruptly, and you bump into her back. She's frozen, and you look down at the marker, _William Colin Pierce, PFC, US Army, August 1 1923, June 6 1944._

"Hey Willy." She whispers, touching her hand to the top of the stone. "Uh, I'm sorry Pop couldn't come. He's missin' ya somethin' awful. I brought someone to meet ya though. Ya were the first one t'know I was a little funny, and, well…this is Santana. She's real pretty, and you'd like her a lot."

You step a little closer to the grave, and you slip your hand into Brittany's. You're alone in this place, and even if you weren't, a gesture of comfort to the bereaved wouldn't raise much of an eyebrow. She squeezes, and when you look at her face, she has tears running down.

"I don't even know how t'say a prayer for'im. Would ya do it, maybe?"

"Is it something you'd like?"

"I think so. Ya always sound real pretty when ya pray, and he might like it."

"Okay." You nod slowly, making the Sign of the Cross. _"God, our Father, Your power brings us to birth, Your providence guides our lives, and by Your command, we return to dust."_

You recite the words, slowly, carefully, picturing the boy in the photographs, the young man in the uniform, the face, so much like your Brittany's. When you're finished, you murmur an _Amen,_ and you hear it echo in Brittany's voice. She lingers a little, when you're through, picking out invisible weeds that grow in the dead grass, rubbing the cold letters that mark his name. This is the closest you've ever seen Brittany to crumbling, and you long to gather her up in your arms.

It starts to rain, just drops at first, cold, and icy. Brittany hastily says her goodbyes to her brother, and as she steps back from the grave, the skies open up and rain falls in heavy sheets. You begin to run, pulling your hat to cover your face, and she's right at your side, despite the fact that her stride is much longer than yours. When you reach the idling taxi, she slides opens your door first, and you slide in, making room for her to fit.

When Brittany checks into the hotel, Santana stays back a bit from the desk. She may live in a place where she's free as a colored woman to go where she chooses, but she knows Virginia isn't Fire Island, and she'd rather keep her face hidden beneath her hat, and stand holding the bags, while Brittany speaks to the attendant. The questions Santana fears don't come, and still dripping and cold, she follows Brittany up the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief, when she closes the door to room 3B.

"Real swanky place." Brittany surveys the room, looking at the two single beds, and the desk between them. "I'm sorry ya got all wet though."

"Please don't be, I'm grateful you got to go before the rain."

"Me too. I know we oughta get some dinner, but I'm exhausted. Do ya mind if we lay down a bit?"

"I don't mind that at all. I packed a lunch for the train that we never ate, if you'd like that for dinner instead."

"That sounds real nice." She nods, fumbling as she tries to remove her wet nylons. "Damn things."

"Would you like some help?" You ask, watching her sink down on one of the beds in frustration. You know it's not the nylons that have her so upset, but after such a draining day, it's only natural that she'd find something tangible to take her emotions out on.

"He'd have thought it was a hoot, me gettin' dressed up like this. He'd've asked me why I looked like I feel outta Norma Jean's closet. But I wanted to look proper when I saw it, not traipsin' around there in rolled up slacks and such."

"You look beautiful." You approach her slowly, and you push the wet hair from her face, longing to kiss her lips. "But you always do."

"I miss him so much. I meant it when I said he'd've like you."

"I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to know him." You undo the buttons on her dress as you speak, and you press a soft kiss to her collarbone. "You ought to dry your hair, you'll catch a cold if you sleep like that."

"Okay." She nods, but doesn't move, instead watching you slide off her dress, leaving her nylons and underthings.

"Do you want me to do it for you?"

"Would ya?" Deep blue eyes meet yours, and you give her a soft smile, taking up one of the towels left on the bed.

"Close your eyes."

Taking your time, you massage her scalp, and you run the towel down through her long blonde locks. You love taking care of her like this, and you love that she lets you. When her hair is dry enough, you comb your fingers through, and start a braid. She watches you as you do, fingers quick, and when you tie off the end, she takes your hands in hers.

"Ya still got your wet clothes on."

"I know, I'll get them off soon enough."

"You're beautiful." She whispers, and your heartbeat quickens in your chest. "Everything about ya."

"Brittany." You flush, and she kisses the side of your face.

She peels her nylons off, and quickly changes into her flannel nightgown. You watch her intently as she settles on the bed, eyes burning into you, and you undress quickly, drying your hair, drying your skin, and pulling socks onto your cold feet, before you slide into your satin button up.

You bring the sandwiches over to her, and you sit cross legged on the bed, eating in near silence. Brittany's eyes continue to droop, and you run your thumb over the sagging skin beneath them. She never sleeps enough, you're certain of that, but last night, you think, perhaps, that she slept more than ever.

"It's hardly six-o'clock." She yawns.

"That's alright. We have to leave early tomorrow morning anyhow. I could sleep for the night, if you're ready."

"I think I am." She nods, and you wrap the remainders of your sandwiches up, urging her to lie down.

Once the room is straightened up, your clothes from today draped over the heater, and your things for the morning spread across the empty bed, you crawl under the covers with her. For a long while, she doesn't say a word, she just studies your face. It makes you squirm sometimes, the way she looks at you like you're all that exists in the world, but tonight, you don't. Tonight, you let yourself be that. Tonight, you find her hand beneath the dingy hotel quilt, and you wait for her tears to come.

"He'd have been comin' home soon, I think." She tells you. "Makes me sadder. When the war wasn't close t'over, I didn't feel it so much. He coulda just been over there, fightin' with no time to write letters. But it's gonna end soon, and he won't be barrelin' through the door with his grin and some stories like Art."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that."

"I'm really glad ya came with me."

"I wouldn't have liked it much, thinking of you all by yourself on the train, in this bed. I wanted to be with you."

"I told my Pop I'm gonna be buildin' a house soon."

"Brittany…"

"Case Larry wants to send ya on home when the boys come back, I need t'be sure ya won't have to. If ya still want that."

"It won't change." You twist the bracelet on your wrist, and you shuffle closer, impossibly closer to her. "I don't know what I'll be good for there, if I don't have the bar to tend, but I don't want to go."

"Ya know you're good for lotsa things, I still think ya should be a schoolteacher. They always want someone who ain't married, and they don't have t'know we're as good as. Ya have so many books and things by your bed. The kids'd like learnin' from you."

"Maybe." You tell her, though you're not certain that you could just go and _be_ a schoolteacher. "And what about your father?"

"He thinks it's just fine if I want t'build my own place. He won't think nothin' of ya movin' in neither. When spring comes, I'll start bringin' lumber over."

"How on Earth will you find the time to do all of this?"

"Michael and Davey, and even Art'll help. I know just where I wanna build it, and I'll take ya over there when we get home, see if ya like it too. If ya do, I'll go on and get the deed for the land."

"You." You close your eyes, nose to nose, you think of fairy tales, of the sleeping princess. Of Louisa May Alcott, and wild Jo March. Of Jane Austen, and stubborn Elizabeth Bennett. You think of how their stories wouldn't have changed much, had a beautiful woman come to them, rather than a prince, or a professor, or a wealthy gentleman. Brittany, whisking you off to a home she built on the seashore is more beautiful, certainly, but not much different at all. "I'll love it, wherever it is, whatever it is."

"I want ya to have a say though, alright?"

"Alright, Brittany, that sounds perfect."

"I'm so tuckered out. I want to stay up all night and talk to ya about it, but I won't make it much longer."

"Go to sleep, we've got all the tomorrows in the world."


	10. Girl I've Never Loved One Like You

The sun is shining, and you sit on the bench outside of the bar, with the brim of your hat shading your face. When the mail had come earlier on, you'd found beneath the letter from your mother—dotted with markings from the little girls— a brown paper wrapped package bearing your name. You'd torn it open quickly, finding a slightly earmarked book beneath it. You fingers had caressed the hard cover, and in your mother's letter, she revealed to you that your old teacher had dropped by, telling that she thought you may enjoy it.

So far, you're completely enamored by it, turning the pages faster and faster to learn more about Janie and Nanny, and life down somewhere in Florida. The world beyond your book blurs, and it takes a tap on your forearm for you to notice the presence of someone before you. When you glance up, it's Arthur, book of his own in his lap, and you inhale sharply, still unsure what sort of things you should say around him.

"Jus' figured I'd say good morning, what with everyone else working, there ain't many folks to talk to 'round here."

"Good morning." You nod in response. "It's a nice day to read at least."

"That's what my Ma said too. She's been buying whatever books she can manage t'afford for me. Thinks I oughta keep my mind busy, so I don't go crazy. But lemme let ya in on a secret, lookin' at this water all day's sure to make me go that way."

"I'm sorry for that." You nod again, truly meaning it. He loves it, you think, perhaps as much as Brittany does, and you consider what you love most, Brittany and your family aside. Books, probably, more than most things, and you imagine bring unable to read them, while someone dangles one just out of your reach. "Brittany says she's trying to figure out a way though."

"She means well, but even she knows it's foolish to be bringin' me out on the boat. I'll be in with the fish before we get outta the harbor."

"I'm sorry." You repeat. Frankly, you're not quite sure what else you can say. You're friendly enough with Arthur, sure, but you've never really had much of a conversation with him on your own. He makes you sad, mostly, and then you feel awful for feeling sad about him.

"You're real sweet on her, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Brittany."

"I…" Alarmed—not that he knows, but that he speaks of it so publicly—you glance around, seeing that you truly are alone. "I am, yes."

"I weren't sure at first. I knew she was sweet on you just from how much she wrote of you in her letters, but I weren't sure you felt the same until I saw you with my own eyes."

"Alright." You nod, speechless again, and you look at the book in his lap. "What are you reading?"

" _For Whom the Bell Tolls._ Just started it, actually."

"That's about the Spanish Civil War, isn't it?"

"It is. Still like war books, I guess." He shrugs, and looks over at the harbor. "Alcott's heading back in, it looks."

"Later than I thought, must have been a good day."

Arthur doesn't say anything else, he just stares wistfully out at the boat. You lift your book again, though you don't read the words on the page. You're staring at the Alcott too, you always are, when you're lucky enough to see it come into the harbor. Watching Brittany at the helm is one of your favorite things, you've decided. She's so sure, so calm and confident, and you always listen to the way she asserts her orders.

Because it's warm today, both her shirtsleeves and trouser legs are rolled up, and her cap is awry on her head. When she catches sight of you on the dock, she lifts it and feigns a bow, grinning all the while. It makes you feel so special, and you make to stand, closing up your book again, and tucking it beneath the folded sweater you'd removed earlier.

Sometimes, you wonder how it would feel for her to jump off the boat and wrap you in her arms, the way she does behind closed doors. You wonder what it would feel like to kiss her on the dock in the broad light of day. You wonder how it would be if you could tell people how sweet you are on her. But when you have those thoughts, you finger the cross around your neck. The sin is in the saying it out loud. The sin is in letting anyone else know your brazenness, your deep desires, and your cheeks feel warm when you meet her deep blue eyes.

"Afternoon, Miss." Brittany beams. "Hey ya, Art."

You can't do anything but smile. She has that effect on you sometimes, and you're grateful she begins unloading her cargo, so you can stop catching flies and take in the bustle of her crew. They toss down barrels of fish, and you can't help another smile that crosses your face. It was a good day. She's going to be exhausted, but it will have been worth all her efforts. It's early in the season, and she's told you how much she hopes to get off to a good start. It's harder for her, you think, then she lets on. Being a girl captain means she has to work twice as hard, has to prove herself every step of her way, and when she finally swaggers down off her boat, a wide grin splits her face, and she yanks off her cap.

"Afternoon, Miss Lopez." She winks at you, and you're glad you're sitting down, or your knees would have gone weak.

"Good afternoon, Brittany." You smile in return.

She busies herself again, haggling with one of the wholesalers on the dock, and you attempt to focus on the words on the page before you. _The idea was funny to them and they wanted to laugh. They tried hard to hold it in, but incredulous laughter burst from their eyes and leaked out of the corners of their mouths to inform anyone of their thoughts._ It takes you longer than you'd hoped to read a half a page, but with Brittany, talking fast, as she does, it seems only natural that you'd find it difficult to focus.

"Headin' on home." Brittany approaches you, stopping so the toes of her worn boots just barely touch the toes of your flats. Her voice lowers distinctly, and you see the gleam in her eyes. "Gonna bathe and all, then I was hopin' ya might wanna walk with me somewhere."

"They would be nice." You nod, unable to look directly in her eyes, for fear you'll give yourself away. You're a strange sort of soft today, and you can't quite put your finger on why. "I'll meet you down the walk in an hour?"

"I'll be waitin'." She tips her hat again, and you nod, concealing your smile behind the cover of your book.

You wave goodbye to Art and the others, and you head up to your apartment. Your skin is flushed from the warmth of the day, and you wipe your lipstick from your mouth before you splash water on your face. The bar is closed today, for the repairs Mr. Edja wants to make before the summer comes, and Brittany knows as much. You don't have to walk quickly, in order to make it back for opening, and you unbutton your blouse, and slide out of your skirt, changing the day's wilted clothing for the green collared dress you'd ordered from the Sears Roebuck catalogue.

After you carefully reapply your powder and lipstick, you take down the sweater hanging on the back of your door, and you lay it over your arm, checking your reflection. You consider bringing something down for dinner, but everything you have will take time to cook, and you don't want to waste time. You'd rather cook for her later, if she wants to come home with you. You'd rather cook for her when she sits, elbows on your table, watching her with that look in her eyes you love so much.

She's waiting for you on the walkway when you arrive, and she smiles at you, a private smile. Wordlessly, you step to her side, and you feel her fingers graze the back of your wrist, just for a moment in time. You're not sure where she's taking you, but she walks slowly, meandering down to the beach, picking up seashells for the collection you've started, and showing them to you before she slips them into the pocket of her slacks. It's easy this way, and you steal glances at her, wishing you could photograph her like this, wishing you could keep her as she is forever.

"Where are we going?" You ask her finally, when you're far down the beach, and in complete solitude.

"'S a surprise." She shrugs, patting the pocket of her shirt. "But I sure would like to kiss ya now, if that's alright."

"It is. I'd like that quite a bit."

It's one of her gentle kisses. It's not the sort that you have in your bedroom, the kind where you taste where she'd traveled upward from on her lips. The kind where you're still breathing hard and draped across your pillow, and she's insistent upon loving your mouth the way she'd loved your other parts. It's soft, and its tender. It's _I missed you, I love you, I'm glad you're here_ all rolled into one. It's your favorite kind, if you're being truthful. It's the kind you know that she's only ever given to you. Passion, as you've read in your books, isn't necessarily something that one's only ever shared with the one who owns their heart, and perhaps Brittany has shared that passion with someone who came before. But these sort of kisses, they're different, you can feel it. These sort of kisses are for the one who holds you, heart and soul.

"Ya look real pretty today." She tells you. "Dress is nice."

"Mama told me I should order something for myself, since I've been sending so much money back to her and the kids and all."

"Makes me love ya more, if I'm bein' truthful. Takin' care of your family like that."

"She's got an awful lot of mouths to feed, and it's the least I can do. I'm here…feeling so happy, and I've got some guilt about it. I think she must be lonely there, with Papa gone, and me gone."

"What about your, ah—ahb—" Brittany furrows her brow, trying to remember the word, you can tell, and it makes you smile.

" _Abuelita."_ You touch her hand gently, and you shake your head. "I think it's different with her. She's very old, and she's very critical of Mama. It's not companionship, so much, I don't think."

"I'm sorry I stole you from her, then." She looks down, and you step forward, tilting her chin up again.

"Please don't be. She expects I'll be married in a few years, and leave home anyway. I've just…gotten an earlier start is all. But Papa will be back soon. She'll have him, and the little girls are growing quickly. I wouldn't choose to go back now. I've promised you already that I'd like to stay near you."

"I'm glad for that, ya know." Her face brightens, and it lights up your heart. "Come on up off the beach now, I needta show ya what I dragged ya on out here for."

She takes your hand in hers, and without sparing another moment, she leads you up through a grove of chokecherries and pine, stopping in when a branch lashes your face. Quickly, you press your hand to the wound, hoping to stave off the bleeding you know is to come, and her eyes widen in alarm.

"It's alright, just a scratch." You tell her, not wanting to worry her more than is necessary.

"Let me see it." She removes your hand, squinting at the bloodline that forms on your cheek. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a handkerchief, and presses it against your skin, warmth of her own hand radiating through the cloth. "Ain't very romantic if I bring ya on through this mess and get ya cut up."

"It's romantic how quickly you tend to me." You shake your head, smile forming even with the sting under your skin. "And I do like this place, shaded under the grove."

"I bought it."

"You…bought it?"

"Parcel'a land was up for grabs, and I wanted one that was off the path a while. I'm gonna build ya a house, right in this spot."

"You're…you're what?" You choke out, voice strangled with emotion.

"I could sell it off again, if ya don't like it much. Or if ya changed your mind about the stayin'. But I couldn't let it get snatched up by someb'dy else when I wanted it so badly."

"You're…you're planning to build a house here?"

"Well yeah, I told ya I would. I had all kinds'a money saved up from last summer. Don't spend much here as it is, and since ya been feedin' me all winter, I've been spendin' even less'f it. Got plenty left to buy all the stuff I need to build, and get ya some fancy things to put inside."

"I don't need fancy things." You press your body against hers, breathing in her woody scent, feeling dizzy from it all. "I don't need anything. Just you."

"I think ya might need some things." She laughs, still holding the handkerchief to your face. "It'd be awful empty without things at all, and how'd we eat without pots and pans and dishes?"

"You're really going to build a house for us?"

"We've gotta have somewheres to live, and I'd much rather have it be all private like, than sneakin' around between Pop's place and your apartment. Here I could kiss ya any time I please, and if I build the house tall enough over the trees, ya could even watch my boat come on in like I know ya like t'do."

"Brittany." You feel tears begin to fall from your eyes, wetting the handkerchief on your face.

"I hope ya aren't cryin' 'cuz ya don't want it. 'S okay, if ya don't. I'd understand still. I could ask about gettin' a place in the city and workin' down at the shipyards there, if ya'd prefer to be closer to your Mama. I mean it."

"I've told you before, I don't want to leave this place. I promise you that. I love this island, your home, and I'd love to have a home of my own here, one to share with you. I just don't ever want you to think you have to always go to so much trouble for me. I'm happy enough without that."

"I drew up what I want'ta do. 'S not any kind'f official plans or nothin', but Art'll know how t'help me with that kinda thing."

"He'd like that." You smile, thinking of that poor boy. "He'd like having something to do."

"I know it. He'll get put'ta lotsa work when buildin' time comes. Here." She lets go of your face, then takes off her jacket and spreads it down on the prickly ground beneath you. Sit and have a look. Tell me if there's anyhin' else ya want to put in the house, I got my pencil to draw it on in."

Smoothing your dress, you sit on her coat, drawing your knees to your chest and making room for her beside you. Carefully, she procures the folded yellow paper from her pocket, and spreads it out before you. It strikes you, how good her drawing is. It's something you've never seen from her before, but the yellow sheet has boxes so painstakingly pencilled that it takes your breath away. A thought strikes you that she may have done this while you slept, that some of the shavings you've swept from the table may not have been just your own. You picture her there, hunched over in the low light from the table lamp, and your heart rate quickens in your chest.

"See here?" She points to one wall, where small hashes strike through. "I'll make ya a bookshelf, like the one in Mr. Brewster's office at the shipyard. That way ya don't got'ta stack them up beneath the bed 'nymore. And a desk, right here, with a good light for when ya write home."

"What's this?" You breathe, trying to take all of her work in.

"That's a great big window'n our bedroom, where we can see the stars b'fore we fall asleep at night." She cocks her head to the side, and you think, maybe, she though that was the most obvious addition in the world.

"Brittany. This is…it's beautiful."

"So ya like it then?"

"I do. I think it's wonderful."

"Like something in one'a your storybooks?"

"Like something even more so." You lean over, and you kiss her forehead, the bridge of her nose, beneath each eye, and then finally, the side of your mouth, letting your lips linger there for a long while. "I'd love very much to have my life with you in this place. Though, to be honest, I'd like to have my life with you anywhere at all."

"I'd like that too." She whispers, pulling you into her lap. "I'll start clearin' some'a this land real soon. I gotta get it built for us then."


	11. In Everything That's Light and Gay

You're a strange sort of giddy, after Brittany shows you the plot of land she'd purchased. For weeks after, you just can't seem to get it out of your bones. Not that you'd like to, anyhow, but it's just strange for you. You've always been content, even as a small child, but this is the first bit of true happiness you've experienced in your life. You are loved. She loves you. And you love her quite wholly in return.

With the weather fully warmed up, you're busy at the bar, and Brittany is busy on the water, and then, in the evenings, with clearing some of the land before she can build on it. Every night though, she comes to the bar at closing time. She should sleep, you both know she should sleep, but instead, she leads you down the beach, tugging on her suspenders and beaming. She shines her lantern and shows you the work she's done in the afternoon, she relishes in your praise, and she kisses you in the dark, under the shady pine grove that lines the property.

On the second Friday of May, it pours. You go downstairs, and you open the bar early, figuring it might be wise to do so. Through the smudged window, you look into the harbor, and see that the Alcott's slip is empty. You sigh heavily, lining the glasses up behind the bar, and checking the bottles of liquor. When it's like this, you get nervous knowing that she's out on the water. When it's like this, you wish that she were inside. You wish that she were in your bed, laying on her side and listening to you read. You wish, more than anything, that you could be certain of her safety.

Two older gentlemen enter the bar, and you serve them your drinks before you go back to worrying about Brittany. You think of the stories you've read, about sailor's wives, staring out into the ocean, waiting for their beloved to come home. You think of tales of woe and agony, when they _don't._ You think of how there's nothing you could ever bear less in your life, than if Brittany, if _your_ beloved, was swept away by the sea. At the thought, tears prick the back of your throat, and you turn toward the wall, embarrassed at the tears you're about to shed over something merely happening in your mind.

"So what'll you do about it, Woodhull?" One of the men at the bar slaps his hand down. "If she's getting hitched and moving out to Manhattan, you need to find a replacement."

"You don't think I know that? It's not much of an easy task. The Karofsky girl didn't want it, and I'd swear it, she might be the only girl on the island with the right sense to teach school."

At that, your ears perk up. You think of what Brittany has said time and again, of how you should be teaching school, of how it could be a very real and very permanent job for you, once the war ends, and Mr. Edja turns the bar back over to one of the boys. It isn't in your nature to pry, but you're not sure how else you could express to these men that you might have the right sense to teach school. That you've taught the little girls to read at home. That you sit with Brittany and listen as she slowly pronounces words on a page. That you read book after book, and ache for more, when the ones you have are finished. That you'd be right for the job, if only they give you a chance.

Formulating how to speak to them gives you a break from your omnipresent anxiety about Brittany, and you turn back to the bar, fixing the bottles again, slowly running your fingers over the printed names. For just a brief moment, you considered reading them out loud, but then you nearly laugh at yourself for that foolishness. That certainly wouldn't prove your capability to teach, and it might make these men believe that you were a fool. Instead, you take a breath, and you smooth your skirt before you turn back around, smiling as you do.

"I don't mean to eavesdrop, sir." Your cheeks burn hot, thinking of what your _abuelita_ would say to this, thinking of how she would swat you for it. "But if you're speaking of the school here on the island, I might be able to help you."

"Oh yeah?" The man folds his glasses and sets them down on the bar, extending his hand. "Richard Woodhull, principal of the Ocean Beach school."

"Santana Lopez, sir. It's such a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Lopez. I presume a gal of your profession hears all sorts of gossip, and you'd know just the one I should be talking to in order to fill my vacancy."

"I…" The heat in your cheeks flare, and you're certain that you're blinking far more rapidly than necessary. "I was hoping that I could possibly be the one to fill the position."

"You?" He eyes you with a skepticism that makes your stomach churn, and you fist your apron to ground yourself. "Miss Lopez, we run a fine school, and you're just a barkeep."

"She certainly talks more properly than anyone else in these parts, hear her out, Dick." Mr. Woodhull's friend urges him, and you feel such a debt of gratitude toward the man.

"Go on then." He nods.

"I'm a barkeep by necessity of the war, Mr. Woodhull. I graduated from Our Lady of Lourdes Academy in Manhattan, where I'd gone on scholarship, last spring. My father is a doctor, somewhere on the western front just now, and as my mother has little ones at home, I had to take the first well paying job that came my way. Mr. Edja's a friend of my father's, so he offered me a room and a salary if I'd come out here and manage the bar for him. I don't just keep it, sir, I do the numbers and the ordering as well."

"So your arithmetic is up to par then, as I'd assume a smart man like Larry wouldn't have a girl who jumbled the numbers working on his books." Mr. Woodhull puts his glasses back on, and looks you over.

"I'd like to think my reading is also. My mother sends me books often from the city. I taught my younger sisters to read before their school days, and to write, best as I could."

"And you've been thinking on being a teacher?"

"A little, sir, yes. Captain Pierce's daughter mentioned I might talk to you about that, so it seems fortuitous that you came in here today."

"Certainly is." Mr. Woodhull nods, and less nervous, you release the tight grip on your apron. "You're not from here though, do you have a beau back in the city, who will come from you before the year is up?"

"Oh." You shake your head, swallowing hard. You know you're not lying, at least not with words, but still, you feel oddly…guilty of something. "No, Mr. Woodhull. I plan to stay here permanently. I've grown fond of the place, even after the long winter."

"Well that settles it then." He booms, and your heartbeat quickens. "Come on down to the school tomorrow morning at nine-thirty, and I'll have the teaching test ready for you. If you can pass it, then we'll talk about hiring you on."

There don't seem to be enough words to express your gratitude, but you try as well as you can. When Mr. Woodhull and his companion leave, you feel as if you're bubbling over with excitement. Outside, the rain pummels the roof and the windows, and you're all alone in the bar, but you can't help but plan and dream. You dream of teaching here, knowing that you're doing something more than smiling as you slide drinks across the bar. You dream of coming home in the afternoons to Brittany, inside the house she's building you. You dream of the future, because it looks so bright, so beautiful.

The day seems to drag, after you come down from your high, and when it starts to hail, you close down the bar for the evening. Mr. Edja has given you jurisdiction on that, and you figure the salary he'd pay Jacob and Ryder would be much greater than the amount of money he'd make in an empty bar. So you go upstairs, and you watch from the window, waiting for the Alcott to finally come in. It unsettles you, you long it's taking, and you can't help but keep looking at the clock by the door, counting the moments until Brittany arrives, counting the moments until you can breathe again.

At four-sixteen, you watch her dock. Every breath you held inside leaves your body, and you sink into the window seat. She's safe, she's home, and knowing that, you light the stove to make _caldo de pollo,_ and warm her up after a long day of cool, wet weather.

Forty-five minutes later, there's a knock on your door, and you quickly wipe your hands on your kitchen towel and go to it. When you open it, she stands there in her green rain slicker, hood pulled up, and a grin on her face. You step back, smiling, and she comes through the threshold, stamping her wet galoshes on the mat, before she slides them off, and hangs her coat on the empty peg beside the door. Satisfied that she won't drench you, she steps forward, and she gathers you into her arms, smelling like salt and sea and rain.

"You're cold." You murmur against the soft skin of her face.

"And you're so warm." She whispers back, kissing the shell of your ear. "And it smells so good in here."

"Do you want a hot bath to warm up? I drew one for you, when I knew you'd be in soon enough."

"Ya drew me a bath?" Her blue eyes crinkle, and her body presses further into your own.

"The way the wind has been whipping, and the rain has been coming down, I thought you might need one before dinner."

"My girl's the best." She beams, and your pulse quickens at the thought of her love for you. "I won't be too long."

"Take your time." You shake your head, though you're so anxious to tell her about your day. "I'll be here when you're through."

You hear her singing in the bathroom as you put up the rice, and you can't help but sing along with her from the kitchen. Your giddiness has been amplified by your afternoon, and now, with her in your apartment, it spills forth. When the rice is cooking, you go into your room, and you look through your drawer for the clothes she's left behind, and you'd washed for her. Satisfied with the slacks and sweater you find, you knock softly on the washroom door, and when she doesn't answer, crack it open.

She's beneath the bubbles of the tub, head partially submerged, and eyes clothes. You smile to yourself as you hang her things from the towel rack. It's an odd sort of domesticity, you think, as you slip out undetected. You wonder what it will be like when Brittany builds the house. You wonder how it will be when you're not in an apartment that doesn't belong to you, that is right in the center of everything. You wonder how it will be, when you can have a little herb garden, when you're isolated from prying eyes, when you can kiss her on the porch. You wonder what it will feel like when it doesn't feel like you're hiding.

You're just setting the dishes down when Brittany comes back into the kitchen, and you look over at her and smile. Her hair is twisted into a damp braid, and she pads across the floor in her warm socks. She waits for you to sit first, and then she takes her seat across from you, grinning with her teeth as she goes.

"Sure's a nice thing to come into work from. And I mean getting to be with ya, not even just the food."

"It's my favorite thing." You confess, feeling breathy as you say it. "How was your catch today."

"Huge! Worth goin' out in this nasty storm for, that's for sure." She nods emphatically. "Ya closed the bar early?"

"It wasn't worth much to keep it open. I had just two customers all day. Considering how little business we did though, I'd say I got lucky."

"How so?" Brittany leans her chin on her elbow, taking a spoon full of her chicken soup, and studying you intently.

"Mr. Woodhull came in, and he and his friend were talking about how the school will need a new teacher for September."

"Whoo-ee! I've gotta tell my Pop to get a word in for ya! They oughta know ya might be interested in takin' a job there! I'll go down to the terminal tonight, ask him to do it first thing in the mornin'!"

"He doesn't need to." You laugh at her excitement, and reach across the table to take her hand. "Mr. Woodhull asked me to come down there in the morning, and see if I'm fit for teaching."

"Sure ya are! You're the most fit for teachin' of anybody I've ever seen!"

"I do hope so. I'd like to know that I have a job lined up, just in case…"

"No matter what, I'll take care'a ya. You don't have'ta worry about all that."

"I…I do have to worry about it." You shake your head, gathering your thoughts. "When the war ends, if I don't have a job, my mother and father will expect me to come home. If I do have one, there will never be a question on why I'd choose to stay."

"Oh." She becomes quiet, intently studying the food in her bowl. "I understand that."

"I've promised you, I'm not leaving." You reach across the table to take her hand. "But I just need to do everything in my power to remain here without disrespecting my parents."

"Well then we oughta make sure ya get that job, I think."

"I'll certainly try my hardest. Mr. Woodhull said it's been difficult to fill that position, so I hope I do well on the test."

"Ya know you're the smartest person I ever met in my life. I know ya have'ta do real good on it."

"I think maybe I will." A slow smile creeps across your face, knowing the faith in you she has, knowing that this is your life now.

You finish dinner, and she dries the dishes as you wash them. She's tired, you can see it in her eyes, but when you finish cleaning up, she sinks down onto the sofa instead of rushing to change into her nightgown. After you turn on the radio, you take the checkerboard down from the shelf, and when she nods with a smile, you move the card table over to the sofa.

For an hour, you play checkers. She beats you nearly every time, and she shrugs sheepishly, leaning over to kiss you. When Bing Crosby comes over the radio, she stands from the sofa, and she extends her hand to you. You take it, and you let her pull you into her arms, leading you to dance around the living room. When the song ends, she looks deep into your eyes, and your breath catches. Sometimes, when she looks at you this way, you feel like you're falling, deeper, deeper, into some unknown abyss.

Sometime in the midst of your dancing, you lead her into your bedroom. The passion you feel for her overwhelms you often, and you press your body into hers, closing your eyes as her lips press into the hollow of your throat. Deftly, her fingers manage the buttons on your blouse, and your breasts spill into her calloused hands. You kiss her then, feeling the ripple from inside your chest pour into her mouth.

Before you know it, she presses you into the sheets of your bed, bared completely to her. Though perhaps you should think of sin, you never do, when she hovers above you, fingering the gold chain around your neck. You don't when you feel her soft breasts press against your own. You don't when she kisses every inch of skin, until she's propped on her elbows with your knees bend up on either side of her. You don't when she kisses you in your most private place, baring you most intimately. All you think of is Brittany, Brittany, Brittany, giving mouth, wanting heart, and you fall, uninhibited, until she catches your head in her hands, and kisses your lips with the taste of you on her mouth.

You're in love, and you're delirious. You think perhaps, when you lay on top of her, and she lets you touch her so intimately in turn, you love her more. You love the way she gasps for breath as your soft fingers stroke her. You love the way her mouth mashes hard against your own. You love how her skin prickles with goosebumps, and her eyes burn two blue flames. You love how she softens under your touch, hard muscles of a fishergirl loose and pliant. You love how she catches your hand, whispering _enough, enough,_ and brings the palm of it to her lips to hold her silent promises. You love how her braid comes loose of its tie, and her golden hair spreads beneath her, like Venus in _The Metamophoses._ You love her, because she's yours, and you love her, because you're hers in return.

Spent, you lay beside her on your pillow, and she strokes your face. Her lids droop, but her eyes remain fixed on your face, studying you, learning you, loving you. You kiss them, because you can, and you feel the muscles of her cheeks tighten in a smile. Though you know you should leave the bed and put your nightgown on, you can't seem to bring yourself to do it. Her skin is too warm, her touch too reverent, and your heart too swollen with adoration to do anything but lay beside her. So you close your eyes like that, and you fall into a blissful sleep, drowning in the depths of your feelings.

The small silver clock on the bedside table wakes you. She's not beside you when you open your eyes, but you see her in the early morning light, tugging on her trousers. She wears nothing on top, and your breath catches in your throat. She doesn't stay with you every night, she cannot even stay with you _most_ every night, so you don't catch a glimpse of this often enough. But soon you will. Soon you'll wake every morning to the sight of her, dressing to go out on the sea.

"Good morning." You murmur, soft, so as not to startle her with your wakeful presence.

"Mornin', pretty lady." She turns to you and smiles, revealing the blooming red mark on her left breast, where you'd kissed her too hard, too much. "Wakin' with the sun then?"

"Always, when you're here."

You pull the quilt around yourself as you emerge from the bed, until you take your dressing robe from the hook, and replace the heavy blanket with that over your bare skin. You go to her, and she doesn't hesitate a moment to take you in an embrace, to kiss your lips, to murmurs that she loves you in the morning as well as the afternoon, and the evening too. It's reminiscent of a song you'd long sang to the little ones at home, and you smile at the thought. Of her, of them, of the love you have in your life, so deep, so true.

She finishes dressing, and you go into the kitchen to boil the water for coffee. You pack the leftovers from dinner into a bowl for her to take for lunch, and you light the oven to toast bread. Before she emerges from the bedroom, you slather butter and jam on the bread, and you pour the coffee for the two of you. When she leaves, you'll begin to look over the old primer, left on the shelf from some long ago resident of your apartment. Perhaps it will remind you of the things you should know when you meet Mr. Woodhull, though it's not current. Perhaps it will give you the knowledge you need to secure the job that will help everything fall into the proper order.

When Brittany comes to the the table, she eats breakfast quickly. The rain has stopped, and you know she's anxious to get out on the water. She finishes, and she goes for her boots, but before she makes it to the doorway, she whips around quickly, and moves back to you. You stand from the table, and she beams at you.

"I almost forgot to wish ya luck today! I'm going'ta be thinkin' about it all mornin' out there. I'll come right into the bar when I get in."

"You always do." You laugh. "But thank you. Your good luck is the best kind of luck."

"I love you." She whispers. "I love ya a whole lot."

"I love you too, Brittany. I'll see you later."

After she leaves, you make the bed, and begin by choosing an outfit to wear. You lay your nylons out on the quilt, and you take out your navy print dress, the most modest in color. You'd ironed it before you'd hung it up, but you inspect every inch of it, checking for creases or wrinkles, before you're satisfied that it is appropriate. Taking down a hat box, you lay the hat beside it on the bed, and you take deep breaths, calming yourself before you bathe.

When you're finished with your bath, and your skin is softened and scented, you begin on your hair, ironing it flat, before setting it with your rollers. While you wait for it to set, you look over the primer, closing your eyes and spelling in your head, calculating the simple arithmetic, until you feel confident enough that you're competent in whatever Mr. Woodhull puts before you.

The day is warm again, as you walk over to the school. There's a ball of lead in the pit of your stomach, and your palms begin to sweat when you arrive in front of the heavy door of the school. Carefully, you wipe the sand from your shoes and you pull the door open. You think of how much faith Brittany has in you, you think of what getting this job will mean, you think of how you're smart, capable, and you walk down the hall, reading the wooden sign printed _OFFICE._

Inside, the secretary tells you to take a seat. You sit perfectly straight, and though you've never been one for fidgeting, even as a small child, you avoid the urge to do such. After five minutes of waiting, you take your book out from your purse, and you lose yourself in the story of Jane and Mr. Rochester. You've read it at least a dozen times, but it's your favorite, it calms you. When the door opens, you quickly close the book again, and tuck it away. Seeing Mr. Woodhull, you stand up, and you smooth your dress, before you step forward to take his extended hand.

"Come back, Miss Lopez."

"Yes, sir."

You follow him back into his office, and when he gestures to the seat across from his desk, you sit slowly. Slowly, you breathe in and out, you look him in the eyes, and you watch him lift his pencil to a stack of paper.

"So, I assume you brought your paperwork, Miss Lopez?"

"I wasn't quite sure what you needed, but I brought my birth certificate, my church records, and my certificate of graduation." You reach into your bag, carefully removing the envelope of paperwork and holding it to your chest.

"Your birth certificate and diploma will be enough." He extends his hand, and you slide the necessary papers out and pass them to him. "Excellent. Your test has been prepared for you, I'll go over these things while you take it, and then I'll score it."

Mr. Woodhull escorts you to an empty room, and you take your seat at a wooden desk. You haven't taken a test since you completed high school, but you're immediately struck by the simplicity of the answers. They're the things you've helped your sisters to learn at first, then get increasingly more challenging. But even as they do, you're certain of how to answer them, certain that you'll score well, certain that you'll at least have a _chance_ at being offered a position here.

When you're through, you bring your test back across the hall, and you knock gently on Mr. Woodhull's door. You sit, stiff as a board, while he scores your test, and it's impossible to tell by his unchanging face what he's thinking. He finally finishes, and slowly, he slides your birth and high school certificates back across the desk to you. At once, your heart sinks, and your skin flushes in a strange embarrassment. You assume that you've made a fool of yourself even asking to be considered, and your hands shake as you tuck your things back into your purse. Perhaps Mrs. Karofsky will take you on, if Mr. Edja decides he won't keep you after the war. Or perhaps you can learn to do something useful, like scale fish, or dig enough clams to sell.

"Miss Lopez, I can offer you no more than thirty-four dollars per week starting in September, and I ask that you begin taking correspondence courses before that. Should you remain with my school upon completion of them, you will be reimbursed for the expense." His tone remains clipped and professional, but you feel your heart soar at your success. "Is that agreeable to you?"

"Oh yes. Sir, thank you. It will be such a pleasure to work here with you, and to teach. I promise I won't let you down."

"Time will tell that." He nods. "We don't have lodging for a teacher here, have you considered that."

"I have, Mr. Woodhull. Everything will be worked out by the start of the year, I assure you of that."

"Excellent. Clara has transcribed your records, and I'd like you to sit with Miss Pillsbury's class next week before the term is up. Is Monday suitable for you?"

"Yes, sir." You nod, feeling as if you might burst with delight. "Thank you."

Before you leave, Mr. Woodhull has you fill out more paperwork, and you try to keep your hand from shaking and smudging your penmanship. You stand when you're through, and you shake his hand again. Thirty-four dollars a week. It's certainly a bit more money than you take in now, and it's certainly more of what you envisioned yourself doing each day, before the necessity of war brought you away from your home, and to this island. Perhaps it comes from the man's desperation to find a teacher, or perhaps, somehow, Brittany commissioned Captain Pierce to speak on your behalf, and he already managed, even though the hour is early, but still, you feel proud. You feel enthralled, you feel hopeful, so hopeful.

Going home, you take off your shoes and walk along the beach. You consider how you'll tell Mr. Edja that you plan to leave when summer is out. Perhaps he'll be expecting it, he never thought for you to stay even a full year, after all, and it will be longer than that when summer ends. But still, through all your excitement, the thought tempers you. If makes you feel a little nauseated. And so, to distract yourself, you look out at the horizon, wondering just where the Alcott is.

When you reach the plot of land Brittany purchased, you stop. The sign you'd carefully lettered _PRIVATE PROPERTY_ is hammered into the sand, and you see how much brush Brittany has removed from the acreage. You never see it during the day, it's usually after dusk when you walk down with her, when she kisses you, leaning against the sign. In her absence, you lean there yourself, and you look out into the ocean again. Just for a moment, you close your eyes. You imagine waking up each day beside her, watching the sun rise over the water. You imagine walking home from school each day along the sand, and cooking dinner in the kitchen she built. You touch the chain around your neck, and you open your eyes again.

There's not enough time for you to stay, though you wish you could wander around a bit and gather some of the fallen pinecones. You like the scent of them, and Brittany brings them often, but you have no time today. Instead, you lift the large clamshell that has been discarded in the sand, and you sit it atop the sign post. You're saying that you've been here, in your own sort of way, and it makes you smile. You know it will make Brittany smile too, when she sees it and recognizes it was you. It feels good today, it feels…fitting. It feels right, because today, today may very well be the true beginning of the rest of your life.


	12. I'll Get By As Long As I Have You

_Dear Papa,_

 _I'm so very happy to have received a letter saying you're well. I always anxiously await news from you, and I suppose the postmaster here has tired of seeing me so often._

 _Things are well here on the island, though I miss Mama and the little girls terribly sometimes. I am, however, writing with a bit of news for you, which I have yet to inform Mr. Edja of. I've been offered a teaching position with the local school, beginning in the fall semester._

 _While I am certain that you and Mama were hoping I would return home when you return from Germany, I do love it here more than I had expected, and being so young, I cannot imagine that I would be offered a similar position in Manhattan if I were to return._

 _As I would not ask Mr. Edja to allow me to remain in my apartment here once I vacate my position at the bar, I have arranged to lease a room from my friend Brittany, the daughter of the ferry captain, and a retired Naval officer for the duration of my tenure._

 _My intention is to continue to send money back to Mama, and with the extra income that I will be making, my hope is that I can help with the expense of Marina's schooling. I have already informed Mama of my plans by telephone, and her letter on the subject may find you first, but I had wanted to write to you as well, in hopes that you will not be angry with me for choosing to stay here._

 _I love you very much, Papa, and I pray for your safety each morning and evening._

 _Love, Santana_

Standing beside the letter box, you take a deep breath, and you slide the envelope inside, watching as it wafts down to the bottom. There's a deep sense of dread in the pit of your stomach, and you inhale the balmy summer air sharply as you step back.

Your father is a kind man. Unlike the fathers of many other girls you know, he has never sought to force you into a marriage, or ask you to do something that is against what you'd like. But still, you have never before told him by letter that you were leaving home permanently, never told him that you planned to live on an island in the middle of nowhere, and to live with a person he doesn't know.

Very much, you'd _like_ him to know Brittany, you'd like for all your family to know her, but you fear it too. You wonder, lying awake at night, if they'd see it written on your face, the unnatural love you have for her. You wonder if they'd make you come back home then, if they'd tear you away from her, in fear that God will condemn your soul.

Thinking of it, you shake your head. They'll meet her, at least your mother and your sisters will, before the summer is out. There are things you need to get from home, some books you had left behind, some of your skirts and blouses from your school days that you might wear when you start your new job. And there are your sisters, the little girls you long to hug close every day of your life. You miss them so terribly, and you promised them, as they clamored for the phone, that you'd be hind to visit them soon. You'll take Brittany with you then, you'll show her the world you come from, you let your family meet the girl who owns your heart, even if the fear cuts you to the quick.

She's broken ground on the house. The trees she needed to clear from the lot are gone, stacked up in neat little piles along the sandy perimeter of the apartment. With David and Michael, she dug up sand and built the stilts your home will stand on to protect it from the sea, and mixed and poured cement to anchor it in place. Forgetting the letter in the box, you walk down to the beach, slipping your shoes off, even though the sand fills your nylons and makes you itch, and inexplicably, your muscles sting. But you're aching to see what she's done since you've been there last, three days ago, and nothing will slow the pace of your walk.

Before you reach the spot, you hear her laugh ring out, and you hear David's whistle. You love their easiness, their plain joy, the love they have for one another. They're a community, even more than your family is with the congregation in church. They love each other, they'd do anything for each other, so far as helping Brittany build a home to live in with her secret lady love. It strikes you powerfully, and your knees go weak. This place, this Island, this home, it's more than you ever could have imagined.

"Afternoon, Miss." Arthur tips his hat from the beam he sits upon. You assume the boys carried him down into the sand, so he could be a part of this, and it makes your heart ache something fierce. "I'm the foreman on this crew."

"Looks like you're doing a wonderful job." You laugh, admiring the skeleton taking shape before you. "Thank you for that."

"Santana!" Brittany waves furiously, hammer in her hand atop the structure of your future home. Before you can even lift your hand to her, you hear the hammer hit the sand, and in a flurry of blonde hair and trousers, she jumps down beside it and strides over to you. "What do ya think? Lookin' real swell, ain't it?"

"I don't know much about building houses, but I think this is the finest frame of a house I have ever seen."

"Ya think? I sure am proud'a it! Soon enough, we'll be gettin' ready't build it up! Goin' to have ya in here before the school term starts, if I've got anythin' to say about it."

"You ought to rest a bit, Brittany." You hand her the Thermos you'd filled with iced tea, and watch her skin flush as she takes a swig of it.

"Just what I needed!" She beams, stepping so close that you begin to fidget. Her friends know, of course they know, but you're remarkably shy, and the way she looks at you feels too intimate around public company. "I get plenty'a rest, don't ya worry your pretty face about that."

"Brittany." You murmur, low and warning.

"Santana." She teases back. "Wanna come on up and see the view?"

"Up there? Is it safe?"

"Do ya think I'd bring ya up if it weren't?"

"No." You mean to be playful in your response, but when you speak it, you realize you sound reverent. You _are,_ perhaps. You trust her so deep in your heart that it hurts. "I'd like to see it with you."

"Cap, we're goin' to head on home. Ya keep workin' us to the bone down here." Michael grins, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat from his brow. "I need to be home for supper."

"Go on, go on." Brittany chuckles, waving them along. "Ya alright, Art?"

"Just fine." He nods, accepting a lift up from David, only a slight bit of shame showing in his face. "See ya t'morrow afternoon."

You watch as they head up the beach, and then, you turn your attention back to Brittany. The sun is just beginning to sink in the sky, and you know you have a few hours before it sets completely. Before she does anything else, she gathers up the remains of her tools, indicating that she plans to leave once you come down from the scaffolding, and you watch her. Through her shirt, you see the hard muscles ripple in her her back, and you watch her lithe form duck in and out of the wooden skeleton. She's beautiful, so beautiful, and seeing her beneath the work she's done with her hands, beneath the home she's building you, your breath is stolen.

"Alright then, ya ready to see?"

"I would love to."

"Step up on my knee, and I'll help ya up."

Though you think to object to climbing on her, to telling her that you can make it up the makeshift ladder, the truth is, it wracks your nerves. You trust her, certainly, but you don't trust your own ability to climb. Sliding your shoes from your feet and leaving them in the sand, you step with nylon clad toes onto her knee, and you feel her secure hold around your waist. A small squeak escapes your lips as she lifts you, and you wrap your hands around the smooth wooden pole when you can grasp it, scrabbling with your feet for something solid.

When you find the wood beneath, you stand up, cautious not to let go of the pole, and perhaps more cautious not to splinter your nearly-bare feet. More quickly than you can imagine, she scales the scaffold, and pops up beside you, taking a bow when she stands straight again. Her hand slips down to take yours in a gentle hold, and you breathe a sigh of relief at having her beside you.

"Here." Brittany tosses a thin board down over the frame. "Now ya don't have t' worry that ya might fall through."

"Brittany." You smile, and her eyes crinkle up in response. "Thank you."

"It ain't nothin', had that layin' around."

"I mean for everything."

She holds firm to your hand as you climb onto the board, and she doesn't settle until you're seated securely. Your lower back twinges, but you fight a grimace and wait until it passes, unsure where the aches in your body have come from today. Once you're settled, she sits down beside you, and wraps her arm around your waist, urging you to lean into her. You comply quickly, and finally, when you feel safe in her arms, you look ahead, gasping as you see the ocean waves break before you.

"I'll be puttin' a big window right here for ya, with one of those window benches so we can look out at the ocean whenever we feel like doin' it."

"That sounds beautiful."

"Only the best for my best lady." She kisses your temple. "Did ya have a nice day?"

"I…I sent a letter to my father before I walked down here. I wrote him to tell him that I'm staying here."

"Do ya think he'll understand like your Mama did?"

"I certainly hope so." You suck in a breath. "I think he might be said I won't be around the apartment any longer, more than anything. Mama is used to that by now, but Papa has never been there without me."

"I wouldn't like it much if I had to be anywhere without ya."

"Neither would I. You have been working so hard to build us this beautiful home, and there is nowhere else I would rather be."

"I'm workin' real hard to get it done before the summer ends. I want ya to know ya got a house to live in when ya leave the bar."

"If it isn't finished by the fall, I can figure things out."

"Pop'll let ya stay with us, no matter what, but I want t'start my life with ya when ya start your own new life."

"I would really love nothing more than that." You play with her hands in your lap, feeling her chaffed and calloused skin. "I still need to tell Mr. Edja that I'll be leaving at the end of the summer. I think I might be a little afraid of that. He was so kind to give me the job to begin with, and that job led me to _you._ I think I owe him a real debt of gratitude."

"Ya work real hard, I'd say ya paid your debt tenfold. Ya know, I was thinkin'…"

"What were you thinking about?" You turn from the ocean, and you look into her eyes, bright orange from the sun catching in the blue.

"Maybe he'd want t'hire Art on. Even if he can't see over the bar, he's real good at managing things."

"I could talk to him about that, if you think Arthur would want the job. It would certainly make me feel better if I let him know I found someone who might replace me."

"I can talk to him tomorrow. I'm sure he'd snap that up real quick. I think him helpin' us out here has been good for him, so I bet he'd cheer up even more if he could be makin' some money."

"To tell you the truth, I have really enjoyed getting to know him. Despite our rocky start, I look forward to his company."

"Now that ya know there ain't nothin' to be scared of about me and Art, and now that he knows your my girl." She laughs, pulling you closer. "Art's the only one I know who reads even close to as many books as I see ya readin'. I do like it when ya read to me at night though, your voice makes the stories sound real."

"Do you really like that? I've often wondered if I bore you with it."

"Course not. It's even better'n the radio! I know ya read lots'a books during the day, but I like how ya save our stories and don't skip ahead. I know ya read this one so many times ya almost know the words without readin', but still."

"It just makes me happy that you have been enjoying it so much."

"I do like Jo best though, and all her trampin' around."

"I like Jo best too." You smile, though you don't tell her that sometimes she reminds you of Jo March, but without such a temper. She must know, you think, but you just keep looking ahead at the waves lapping the shore. "I'm not sure there is a more beautiful place in the world, though I can't think I'd care much if it was ugly looking out from here. It would still make me happy knowing you build it."

"I think ya gotta pick some furniture and things. I'm good at the building, but I'm not so sure about the rest."

"I looked in the Sears catalogue, and everything looks so expensive. I have been trying to put aside some of my money each week to help pay for it."

"Don't ya remember that I was going t'have to get all this anyway, if ya weren't livin' with me? The money I got put aside'll be plenty, and I'd like if ya picked what ya wanted."

"I might be more comfortable if you and I were to pick it out together. I know it might be a silly thought for furniture, but this will be both of our home."

"I don't know much about furniture, but if ya wanted that…I think that'd be alright."

"There isn't much I know about it either, I haven't ever picked any out before."

"But ya know about pretty things. I think ya might be better at it than me."

"Brittany." You cock your head to the side, heat creeping up your neck. "I know that you know about pretty things too, like the flowers on my table right now."

"They just reminded me of ya, so I picked 'em when I went over to the mainland."

You are never really certain what to say when she says things like that about you, so you lean a little further into her as you look out over the deep blue water that spreads out before you. It's easy to imagine your future when you're sitting here. It's easy to allow the anxieties that churn deep within your belly to melt away. With Brittany, things are easy, despite how hard the should perhaps be. Her arms provide you a safety net, a soft place to fall when you're anxious and afraid, a refuge from the storms of your mind.

Together, you sit for a long while. Truthfully, you may be a little afraid to get down from your perch, but also, you feel so comfortable there, up above the world, that you don't want to leave. But the wind whipping off the ocean sends a chill through you, and without a jacket of her own, Brittany can only warm you so much with her body.

So you prepare yourself to come down and start the long walk home. She jumps first, and you gasp, fearful she'll injure herself. Of course, she doesn't, and she climbs halfway up the makeshift ladder to help you. It's sweet, and you love her more for the way she checks to make sure your skirt doesn't catch, and your feet don't slip. When you're safe on the sand again, you lift your shoes and tuck them beneath your arm, watching as she carefully arranges the fresh boards beneath the scaffold, and she gathers her tools up in her bag.

As you walk down the beach, you fight the increasing chills that you feel, and Brittany looks down at her feet, sheepish, you think, that she doesn't have a jacket or a sweater for you. She's like that, so concerned for your well being, and she pulls you closer for as long as she can, she holds up there, until houses begin to dot the beach, and she knows she has to let you go. You shiver more then, colder from the loss of her body heat, and she frowns as you make your way up the worn wooden steps off the beach.

Your hands shake as you attempt to unlock the door to your apartment, and you can't figure out how it got so cold so quickly. It's been so hot, even with the ocean breeze, and yet, tonight, the sun seems to have stolen all the warmth when it sank into the sea. Finally, you manage to open the door, and you rub your arms furiously with your hands, reaching for your sweater that hangs from the hook beside the front door.

"Cold, pretty lady?" She asks, closing the door behind herself and eyeing you with concern.

"Just a little, it's alright." You shrug it off. "I made a vegetable pie this morning that I was going to warm up for dinner. Is that alright with you, or would you rather something else?"

"I'm gettin' spoiled with all these fancy suppers. That sounds swell to me!"

As she always does at dinner time, she finds her way to wash up while you go to the kitchen. The chill doesn't leave you as you light the oven, and to try to force it away, you light the stove as well. You fill the percolator will water, hoping a cup of coffee will warm you up, and you take the pie from the icebox and slide it into the oven. When you pour your coffee, you begin to feel lightheaded, and you sink down into a chair, sipping it slowly, though your hands shake and threaten to slosh it over the edges.

Your head begins to throb, and you're uncertain what's wrong. You had been fine, mostly, besides the ache you felt earlier, but suddenly, you're feeling incredibly ill. Slowly, you set your coffee cup down on the saucer, and you take a deep breath, trying to stave off your headache, but everything feels blurry. You don't even realize Brittany has finished bathing until you feel a hand on your shoulder, and pricks shoot down your spine, settling in your lower back.

"Are ya alright, Santana?" She asks you, but lifting your head to look at her feels far too difficult.

"Suddenly I'm not feeling very well suddenly." You shake your head slowly. "I'm not quite sure why."

"What do ya feel?"

"Blurry." You speak the only word you can muster, and try to focus on her form kneeing beside you.

"Blurry." Brittany repeats. "I think ya oughta get in to bed."

"I have dinner in the oven."

"I'll take it out'a the oven. Ya look really pale, pretty lady. I think ya should be layin' down."

"Alright." You whisper, not feeling the strength to argue with her.

Before you can say anything else, Brittany lifts you from your chair, and she carries you into the bedroom. Tenderly, she helps you out of your nylons and dress, and dresses you in your nightgown. Her hands feel rough on your skin, gentle as she is, and you squeeze you eyes shut, letting her tuck you beneath the covers.

You fall into a fitful asleep quickly, a cold chill waking you every so often throughout the night. When the sun through your window prevents you from sleeping any longer, you roll onto your side, and curl your legs to your chest feeling you hair cling to to your face, and the sharp pinch of a stray hairpin against your ear. Everything still aches, everything is still cold, and slowly, you crack your eyes open.

At your bedside, Brittany sits rigid a chair. A basin of water sits on the table, and you can see her worrying her hands in her lap. From what you can see of her face, she appears to have been awake through the night, and despite how ill you feel, your heart skips in your chest. You love her, you love her, you love her, and her presence settles you, unsettled as you feel.

"Brittany." You croak, startled by the sound of your own voice.

"Good mornin' sunshine." She leans over, carefully kissing your forehead. "Ya still feel real warm."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"'S alright, I wanted to keep cooling ya down. Looks like summer flu. Runs around here every year 'round this time. Pop says it's from the damp evenin's, when the ocean cools everythin' down. Since ya keep comin' to see me down on the beach each night, and your body's not as used to it as the rest of us, seems like that makes sense."

"I feel awful. But you don't have to sit here and care for me. It must be nearly time for you to leave."

"I'm keepin' her in today. I already went down to tell the boys they had the day off. You're real sick, and I don't want to leave ya."

"Brittany. You shouldn't stay in on my account. I'll be alright." You tell her, though everything aches and prickles and weighs. "I'll take some Blosser's and you won't have to worry."

"I'm stayin' on my account. Won't be safe for me out there, if I'm worryin' after ya in here. Sometimes the flu causes hallucinations, and you shouldn't be all alone in case." She worries her lip between her teeth. "Ya shouldn't be arguin' with me, ya might tire yourself out."

"I think I might already be tired out. But I wish you might lay down with me, and have a rest. I'm so cold beneath the blankets…"

"I think ya might be trying to trick me." A slow smile creeps across her face, and then she yawns, stretching her hands about her head. "But I might just fall for it."

Though you're sore to the tips of your hair and the beds of your nails, when she crawls into bed with you, you let her hold you. While you'd slept, your dreams had been increasingly vivid, and vaguely terrifying, though you can't remember just what frightened you about them. But her arms are your home, your safety, and though your body writhes with discomfort, having her near is calming, soothing.

It's still difficult for you to stay awake, and you don't fight the urge to rest. The dreams come again, each time you fall back into slumber, and you wake over and over again with a start. Your head throbs, your throat stings, your limbs are heavy, but the nightmares are the worst, the nightmares feel real. While you sleep, you see the view from where the windows will be in your new home. You breathe the scent of salt air and bayberry and pine. You watch the ships on the water, as you read your stories, and you see the Alcott on the ocean, Brittany at the helm. And then it all changes. The sky grows dark, and the smell of sulfur fills the air. Raindrops pitter-patter on the windows, and then pelt harder as the wind picks up. Before your eyes, the Alcott takes on water, filling and slipping beneath, as you do nothing but scream.

The dreams caused by illness are too vivid, too lifelike, and finally, you wake up sobbing and thrashing. She's there when you do, sitting up quickly in alarm, hushing you, wiping the sweat from your face and neck. You can't articulate your nightmares to her, you _won't,_ because though she knows you worry after her when she's out at sea, she is unaware of just how gripping the fear is. So you let her cool you down with water, you let her kiss your head and stroke your cheeks. You let her bring you cool water, and flu powder. You let her change your nightgown when the sweat had soaked through it and caused you such discomfort that it becomes impossible to sleep. You let her be here, though you know she should be working. You let her be your family, when your mother is so distant. You let her love you, because it's what you love best.

"I'll always take care of ya, Santana." You hear her whisper, as you're on the verge of another fitful sleep. "Ya won't ever be alone."


	13. Carry Moonbeams Home in a Jar

You don't get well. You're not so sick that you have to lay in bed all day, but you still don't feel quite right. You're a bit feverish, and your limbs feel swollen and stiff, but you have no choice but to work. You insist to Brittany that you simply cannot stay home from work, that no matter how exhausted you feel, you've made a commitment to Mr. Edja, and you're not sure how well he would take to an illness that immobilizes you for a long period of time.

She watches you carefully. Each afternoon, she comes to the bar, and she orders one drink so she can keep a bit of an eye on you before she goes to work on the house. You wave her off each time, you promise her that you'll be just fine, that you'll send down for her if you're unwell, and you continue to work, moving slowly as you pour drinks and smile at the patrons. You ache, but you refuse to allow it to show. Not until you leave for the night, and Brittany draws you a bath, insisting you soak to ease the pain in your body. Insisting that she care for you, and cook you simple dinners so you get to rest.

Every night now, she stays. Previously, it had just been a few times a week, but now, now she's insistent upon laying beside you in bed, stroking your damp hair from your face, tending to you when you toss and turn in your sleep. You're certain she no longer sleeps, you're certain she watches you through the night, ready with a cool cloth or a tin pail at your bedside, in case you vomit and can't make it all the way to the toilet. You beg her not to sacrifice her sleep, you swear to her that it's just a summer flu, and you've tended to your sisters with such illnesses, and have tended to yourself as well, but the way she loves you doesn't allow her that rest. And you know, with great certainty, that had she been the one so ill, you would care for her in just the same way.

You develop a rash on your thigh. Though you haven't been intimate with Brittany in some time, not feeling much like doing more than kiss her, she sees it when she helps you change into your nightgown one evening when your body is too sore to do so yourself. When she sees the rash, you watch panic cross her face, but when you question her, she says nothing, just kisses your forehead, and murmurs _sweep dreams, pretty lady,_ before you fall into another night of fitful slumber.

When you wake in the morning, she sits by your bedside, fully dressed in her trousers and shirt, shoes on her feet and cap on her head. You suspect it's later than she should still be on shore, and you sigh heavily, wishing she wouldn't miss days of work for you. You attempt to sit up, and a sharp wave of nausea hits you, making you recoil back, before leaning over the edge of the bed and vomiting into the waiting receptacle. It's a pain like you hadn't known before this illness struck you, and a deep, nagging part inside of you tells you that you're very unwell. The thought terrifies you, and you fight back the tears that spring to your eyes. You have found love, you have found true happiness, and the fear that you've perhaps contracted something that will take that all away makes you shake, both from fevered chills and horror.

"Ya don't look quite well this mornin', pretty lady." Brittany ties your hair back with the ribbon on your night table, and kisses your forehead. "I went on down and made a call to Doc on the mainland, told him he ought t' see ya."

"Okay." You acquiesce, your voice scarcely a whisper, though you'd previously been resistant to this very idea.

"I don't like that mark ya got on your leg, and ya keep on gettin' sicker. I sent Davey 'n the boys out, and I'm gonna take ya on over by the ferry boat. Probably better for the nausea than takin' Davey's dinghy. Pop's next trip is comin' up at quarter-past nine."

"Is it already so late?"

"Just about. We oughta get ya into some clothes, and walk on down there soon."

"Alright." You nod slowly, though you don't try much to move from the bed. "Would you mind helping me dress?"

"Course not." Brittany stands and goes to the bureau, taking out a soft grey dress, and a pair of your sheer nylons. "This alright?"

As she dresses you, your body feels limp beneath her touch, but she caresses you softly, she kisses the goosepimpled skin, and combs your coarse hair. For a moment, you feel fear that she might catch what you have, but then you think, perhaps, that if she were going to, she already would have, sleeping beside you each night.

Before you leave, she washes out your pail, leaving it to dry in the sink, and she takes the afghan from the back of your sofa and drapes it over your shoulders. The mercury on your thermometer reads above eighty-degrees, but you feel chilled, and she knows that. You feel chilled, and when her arms can't warm you, she provides a blanket to do the same.

You struggle to walk the gangplank of the ferry, your knees throbbing that same dull ache, and she guides you, finding you a seat just in the front. You're glad for that, certain it would be too difficult for you to walk further. When the soot begins to rise from the tall smokestack, and the boat charges across the bay, you lean into her side, finding it difficult to keep your head up. You're grateful for the late morning quiet on the boat, and more than anything, you're grateful that Brittany fears other people so much less than you do.

Upon docking, she helps you back down, tipping her hat to her father, and gets you into a hired car. You're not quite sure how she's managed to arrange all of this, but you feel too ill to ask any sort of questions. You simply let her care for it all, you simply trust that she will handle it in a way you currently cannot, and when you arrive in front of a brick building on the Main Street of town, you know that you'd managed your trust appropriately.

"Doc Davis'll take real good care'f ya. He was an army doc like your pop, in the first war, and he's always taken right good care'f me. I called him up early and told him about the rash ya got and how sick ya have been, and he thinks he can help."

"I hope so." You nod listlessly, as Brittany opens the heavy wooden door. "This sickness is starting to scare me."

"We're gonna get ya all taken care of, I promise."

She ushers you inside, and you sit down, carefully writing down your name on the log the receptionist presents you, though your hand shakes as you do. You worry a bit, about how much money this might cost, and if you even _have_ enough in your purse. Perhaps he'll let you give him the rest later, when you're well enough to take the ferry back over on your own. Or perhaps Brittany has something she can lend you until you're home, and can think clearly enough to organize yourself.

"Miss Lopez." The doctor calls, and your heart drops into your stomach, settling as a pit of anxiety below your naval. "You can come on back now."

"You'll be just fine." Brittany nods, though you wish she could squeeze your hand, you wish she could kiss your head, you wish she could hold you close as the doctor examines you. But you know she can't, you know she has to stay out here, and you stand on your trembling legs, walking slowly back behind the closed door.

As you settle on the examination table, it strikes you that you've never seen any doctor other than your father before. Never in your life have you had much more than a stomach sickness or a headache. Even your mother has been tended to by him, except when the midwife has come to deliver her babies, and the thought of a strange man touching you is unsettling. But Brittany trusts him. Brittany says he can help you, and you ball your hands into fists as he presses the stethoscope against your chest and then carefully examines your elbows and knees.

"Can you tell me a little about your illness? I heard a bit on the telephone this morning, but it would be helpful to hear you tell it."

"A little over two weeks ago, I developed a headache, and then I was so achey and lethargic that I had to go to bed. I have been checking my own temperature and have had a consistent fever."

"And your joints? You have quite a bit of swelling that I can see."

"The joints of my knees are the most painful, almost arthritic, I would imagine. It helps me to soak in the bathtub in the evenings."

"May I see the rash that you have?"

"I—" You take a deep breath, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you consider having to take off your nylons. "It looks as if it might be just a bug bite."

"I understand that." Dr. Davis nods. "But I see a few cases like yours each summer, and typically they include a circular rash. I have found that benzylpenicilin has successful results, but I do need to confirm that you're suffering from what I believe you may be."

"May I…may I have a moment of privacy before that?"

"Yes, of course, and I will have my nurse come in if that will make you more comfortable."

"Thank you, it would." Santana nods.

It takes you much longer than it normally would to remove your nylons, but you manage it, neatly folding them in your lap, and sliding your shoes back onto your feet. When Dr. Davis and the nurse come back in, you are so painfully embarrassed that you're certain they can see it on your face. You understand it's just your thigh, that he's not seeing you or touching you in any intimate way, but still, your mother always placed a heavy value on modesty. So you look away as he examines you, and the nurse nods her reassurances to you, which you're grateful for.

"My suspicions were correct, you have the typical _erythema migrans_ that presents in other people I've seen with symptoms like yours, and I have no reason to assume that the same treatment I've given in the past will not work for you."

"What is…is it a contagious pathogen? And is it a poor prognosis?" You feel your heart begin to race harder, and your head get lighter.

"You speak like a doctor, Miss Lopez."

"I grew up with my father, who is a family doctor and general surgeon currently serving our country overseas." You rush out, gathering the pleats of your dress in your hand.

"I ask you to thank him for his service. I was too old to go back overseas for this war. But I served my time in the last." Dr. Davis shakes his head, and you think he may be remembering things, the way Arthur often seems to. "I have not seen any evidence that your condition is contagious, and with a long course of benzylpenicillin and quite a bit of rest, I suspect you will find yourself in recovery. I can't promise it will heal you completely, but it will certainly help."

"Is that all?"

"It is. I suggest you keep up soaking your joints as well, as you said it was helpful, but I will just write you this prescription, and the pharmacist at Whelan's should be able to fill it for you this morning."

"Oh, thank you, Dr. Davis." You breathe a bit easier, though you're still fearful that perhaps the course of antibiotics won't work. "Thank you so much."

"You are quite welcome, Miss Lopez. Your friend Brittany and the Captain have been quite generous with me for some time, and have only once used my services, so it is my pleasure to help a friend of hers."

Slowly, after the doctor leaves you, you put your nylons back on, and you smooth your dress, knees wobbling as you do. Brittany waits for you outside the door, taking congenially with Dr. Davis when you emerge. When you reach into your purse, she shakes her head to you, indicating that it is taken care of. You're not certain if that comes as a result of her arrangement with the physician, or if she has paid for it herself, but either way, you feel a swell of gratitude in your chest. She treats you with such tender care, she loves you so wholly, and if your joins were not already riddled with this ailment, you believe they would feel weak simply from that.

Brittany folds your blanket and tucks it under her arm as you walk to the pharmacy together. The trapped heat between the buildings makes it hard for you to breathe, and every few feet, you have to take a break. The very idea of how slowed down you've become frustrates you, but you pray, fingering the cross around your neck, that Dr. Davis is right. You pray that you'll be well before the summer is out. You pray that you'll be able to kiss Brittany again like you used to do, to feel her fingers trace your body with passion instead of concern. You pray that you'll be able to walk down the beach with ease, to see the home she's building and can now only show you with her words. You pray, more than anything, that you'll heal, and that this isn't some sort of divine punishment for your own actions.

While you wait for your medication, Brittany buys you lunch at the pharmacy counter. You take slow sips of your Coca Cola and pick at your baked ham sandwich, but you can't bring yourself to eat even most of it. When you know you can't even attempt it anymore, Brittany wraps it in wax paper for you, and tells you that maybe you'd like to finish it for dinner. You just nod, though you're certain you won't, and you feel awful that she spent her money to buy you something you can't eat.

Once the pharmacist hands you the amber bottle of pills, Brittany has managed to find a car to take you back to the port. She talks to her father for a few moments after you're settled in your seat, and before you know it, you're back home. As much as you'd like to crawl into your bed and sleep through the day, following Dr. Davis' orders to rest, you know that you have to open the bar.

"Are ya sure you're gonna be alright t'work?" Brittany asks you, brow furrowing deeply with concern.

"I will be. I know you want to go down to the house today too, if I stay here, so will you."

"I'd put off workin' on it as long as ya need me to, ya know."

"I do." You nod, leaning into her kiss on your forehead. "But I'll be alright. Maybe tonight I'll feel up to walking down the beach."

"Okay." She nods, though she knows as well as you do that she won't. Knows that it'll take time. Knows that as much as you want to, you just physically _can't._

It takes nearly three weeks for you to feel any sort of change. But it comes. Your fever goes down, and though your knees still shake, you find it easier to walk. You know that Brittany watches you carefully, and you know, when you wake on Sunday morning to her still sleeping soundly beside you that she's confident in your recovery. So you slip from the bed, and slide your slippers on your feet before you go into the kitchen and begin making breakfast. It feels like it has been so long since you could do that, and to stand at the stove, watching the whites of the eggs bubble and the thick white bread toast in the oven feels like a miracle.

You feel her come into the kitchen behind you. She doesn't say a word, but you know she's there. She's not quiet on her feet, and she pads across the kitchen to you, pressing her front into your back. Her fingers trace the hem of your nightgown, and trail upwards, until her hand rests softly on your unencumbered breast. Desire surges through you, and it's the first time since you fell ill that a tingling sensation runs from your breast down your spine, settling low in your belly. It's silly, you know that. Her touch wasn't meant to elicit such a reaction, but it does, and you put the hand that doesn't hold the spatula over hers, reveling in the way she cups you so tenderly.

"Ya look well this morning." She breathes into your ear, lips folding in a featherlight kiss on the shell.

"I feel well. I wanted to make you breakfast. I've missed this."

"I've missed ya feeling well. I've missed seeing the color in your cheeks like this, and feelin' ya smile."

"You took such good care of me." You whisper, wishing you had more words to explain how that made you feel. "It's because of you that I'm feeling well again."

"Naw, Dr. Davis did everything, I was just here, makin' sure ya didn't have to be alone."

"You did so much more than that. Sometimes I—" You shake your head, turning the eggs in the pan.

"What?"

"It's not anything very important. I was just thinking of the heroes in all the books I've read, and it's not like this."

"I'm not sure what ya might be sayin'."

"In the books, there is always some sort of grand gesture. The hero saves her life, or whisks her away from her family, or slays a dragon. But with you, you're a hero every day in a small way, and it all adds up to something so much greater than one act of grandeur."

"I just love ya with my whole soul, so I want to make sure ya always have everything ya need and want."

"You have done that from the first moment I met you. It's been nearly a year, hasn't it?"

"T'morrow." Brittany murmurs, and Santana feels her skin prickle with heat against her back.

"Tomorrow?"

"The first time I ever got to kiss ya was a year ago t'morrow. I sure was certain ya might run off into the night, but then ya kept on hangin' around with me, and now, ya let me build ya a house, and we'll live there together as if I could marry ya at the old church at Ocean Beach. I sure wish I could let ya wear that ring I got, ya know. But I s'ppose then everyone'd start askin' ya questions and folks might not all take kindly to such a thing."

"I've never known a girl to love another girl until I loved you myself, and then saw the other ladies doing such a thing when you took me to Cherry Grove. It's your brother's ring though, Brittany. You should keep that."

"I'd like to give it to ya much more than I'd like to keep it. I thought about maybe gettin' a chain for ya so you could wear it in secret."

"Brittany." You lean back into her, closing your eyes. She's every bit of good you've ever known to exist in the world, and just being in her embrace makes you feel as if you're absorbing some of that good in yourself. "I would wear anything you gave to me. I'll be so glad when my bracelet doesn't feel so heavy on my wrist anymore."

"It always makes me real glad to see it on ya."

You eat breakfast across from one another, and she smiles at you over and over again, until you feel as if perhaps you can't take another smile. There's much to do, things you haven't felt capable of managing for a long time, but today, you think you'd rather have for her. Today, you want the quiet of your mind that being close beside her brings.

"Brittany. I'd like to walk the beach with you today."

"Ya think ya finally feel up to it?" A smile spreads across her face from ear to ear. "I've got a lot to show ya since last time ya saw the house."

"I'm still not certain how you've managed to get so much done while looking after me."

"Wait til ya see! I'm gettin' closer. Ya think the heat of the day is too much? I could go down and pull up my traps, and cook up some crabs on the beach for ya at sundown."

"That sounds like a really beautiful night, Brittany. And I do think it might be better for me to avoid the heat and the sun. I seem to move and breathe a little easier when I'm shaded and beneath the fan."

"I could fan ya tonight, if ya need me to."

"I think I'll be alright. I might even need a sweater with me."

"Then that's all ya need to pack, I'll take care'a the rest."

Though you spend most of the morning together, listening to the the radio, reading a book out loud to her, talking about your future together, around noon, she has to go down to the dock and handle some things. It may be her day off, but sometimes things can't be helped, and you spend the time sweeping the floors of your apartment, cleaning the things you haven't had the strength to clean, putting fresh sheets on your bed and tucking the others away for laundry day.

When she returns late in the afternoon, she's has a bucket full of soft shell crabs, and she's whistling. While you hate to watch her cook the crabs alive, you do so enjoy eating them the way she taught you, and you enjoy the way you leave all cares about your appearance behind as you devour them with your hands. Brittany has a picnic basket as well, and you button your sweater over your oldest dress before you lock the door behind you, and let her usher you down the beach.

Though you can smell the ocean air through your window, you realize in just a few weeks, how deeply you'd missed the feeling of the sand between your toes, of the spray off the shore, of the way Brittany slips her hand into yours as soon as you're far enough away from where many people in town seek out solace past the dune. She smiles at you when she takes your hand, and you squeeze it in return. It's an _I love you,_ it's a _thank you,_ it's a _what did I ever do in the time before I knew a love so deep._

You're stunned when you arrive at the site of the house. For a moment, you convince yourself that you're in the wrong place. Where the skeleton stood on the fateful day you fell ill, the home has begun to take shape. Heavy boards enclose the space, and are dotted with spaces cut for windows and doors. It's starting to look like a home, _your_ home, and the sight of it takes your breath away.

"I built ya some stairs up the back. I know ya aren't too fond of the ladder. And soon as I got all the rest done, I'm gonna start on the porch and the stairs right on down to the beach."

"Can I see inside?" You shake your head in disbelief. At the house, at _her._

"Yeah! Come on up!" She drops her bucket and basket in the sand, and places her hand on the small of your back. I'll give ya the whole tour."

"I wish there was something I could do to help, you've done so much work." You marvel as you hold the rudimentary banister to climb the wooden steps up the back.

"Ya give me the inspiration for it. But maybe when I finish the walls, ya can come sit with me while I paint 'em?"

"I would really love to help you paint them, if that's alright."

"That does sound like great fun! I'd love to have ya for it! But perhaps first I should show ya what ya might be gettin' into."

She walks you through the first floor of the house first, stepping through the spaces in the boards that will become the doorways. In each room, she beams brighter, showing you where the kitchen will be, the living space where you'll choose a sofa and a table for your radio, the little nook she's built in the corner, a _library,_ for all your books, she promises, the space where she'll run plumbing, and be sure there's room enough for a bathtub.

You look out through the gaping hole in the wall to the ocean from the living area, and she grins, telling you she'll put grand doors that open to the porch. Then she walks you up the second set of stairs, inside in the back of the house, telling you to watch your step for loose nails. The upstairs is wide open. All that is there is one big room, with the widest window you've ever seen, and the open sky above you. Beneath the window space, there's a pile of pillows and quilts, some you recognize from Brittany's bed. Beside you, you see her skin flush, even in the low evening light, and you lean into her side, kissing her shoulder.

"What is all of this for?"

"I thought…maybe if ya wanted, we could sleep up here beneath the stars tonight. We don't have to, but I brought lots over to keep ya warm, and I figured maybe it could be a kind'f practice from when I'm all finished and we get to move on in. But I wanted ya to be comfortable, not just sleepin' on the bare wood."

"I'd sleep anywhere with you." You tell her in such an earnest way that you feel perhaps like you've morphed into one of the protagonists of your novels. But maybe that's what love does, you're not quite certain. "And this sounds especially appealing."

"Then I'm real glad I packed the lamp."

You go back down to the beach, and Brittany lights a fire in the sand made of cleared brush. You sit back with your shoeless toes curling into the cool evening sand, and you watch as firelight dances over Brittany. She looks surreal in the flickering red, even more beautiful than she does at any other time, and you catch her smiling at you as she turns the charring crabs over with a stick.

You burn your fingers and your mouth, eating the crabs straight out of the fire, but you don't mind it a bit. You love the sweetness of the meat, you love with sweetness of Brittany's _glances,_ proud that you've finally gotten the hang of eating them.

When you're full, you lay your head in her lap, closing your eyes and listening to the rush of the ocean. Her fingers comb through your hair, and you relax further beneath her touch. Your limbs feel tired, and you know you're still not completely well, but laying here like this, breathing in the salt air, being touched by Brittany, you feel a further healing set in. Just a little while longer and you'll be living right on this spot, just a little while longer, you'll feel fully at peace, tucked away from the rest of the world with with.

"You're falling asleep." She murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"Am I?" You open your eyes slowly, taking in her face.

"I feel ya goin' limp. I don't mind it at all, but I think maybe ya would be more comfortable if we went upstairs and I made up our pillow bed."

"Mmkay." You smile, shuffling into a sitting position. "That sounds nice."

She guides you back up the two flights of stairs, and you're a bit winded when you reach the top. Taking a breath, you help her lay out the bed of pillows, and spread a comforter over them. When it looks almost as if it's a real bed, you watch her as she undoes her trousers and strips down to simply her undershirt and knickers. She sits down atop the pillows, and watches you as you carefully unbutton your dress and slide off your shoes, leaving you in just a slip and your own knickers.

The lamp glows a low ethereal light, and you sink down beside her, squeezing her hand before you lay back. Above you is the vastness of the starry night, and when she turns out the lamp, you can still see her face in the reflection of the moon. She kneels above you, leaning down gently to kiss your lips. You deepen the kiss, missing such intimacy with her, and you feel her hands brush your stomach through your slip, you feel the silk slide up just a little as she kisses you more passionately.

"I've stopped feeling quite so tired."

"Ya think?"

"I know." You graze your fingers over the back of her neck, holding her close to you.

"Is it all right if I love ya now?" She asks, voice cracking a bit as she does.

"If you'd like to." You shy a bit, certain that she must feel beneath her fingertips how ravaged you've been by weeks of illness.

"I'll be real gentle, I promise not to hurt ya."

"I know, more than anything else, that you never would."

She begins with another kiss to your mouth. Gently, you trap her bottom lip between your teeth, and you close her eyes, relishing the passionate motion that you'd gone so long without. She brushes her thumb over the apples of your cheeks, and she kisses your chin, smiling against sallow skin, before she lifts your slip completely over your head.

It's different in the starlight. It's different after so many weeks without, but she doesn't touch you hungrily. She's careful, she's _reverent,_ and you watch her brush each of your lips with such tenderness, watching your nipples peak as desire fills you. She kisses them too, tongue poking out to lave attention on them. You're not certain it's normal, the rush of desire you feel when she does this to you, but you can't help yourself, you can't help but push the back of her neck to draw her closer.

Though Brittany prefers best to kiss you between your thighs, having developed an affinity for it when you'd first discovered that way to make love to one another, she doesn't do that this morning. Instead, she hovers over you, holding the side of your face with one hand and pleasuring you between your thighs with her other. There's such a level of intimacy to this position she has you in, to the way she watches you for any sign of pain, the way she looks at your face with complete adoration. When you feel your insides coil and snap, she touches you gently, until your body stops clenching, and then she ghosts her fingers up your side, strumming your ribs with them, and brushing them over your lips.

"Ya really are the most beautiful girl in the world." She murmurs, looking so deep into your eyes that you shiver. "I'd love to stare at ya just like this all night, but I'm afraid ya might get cold, 'specially when you're just gettin' better."

"Perhaps. Though I'm certain I couldn't move to dress right now, no matter how hard I tried."

"Let me dress ya then, and wrap ya up in the blankets and my arms."

Though it's a warm night, and you know you shouldn't feel the chills, you do, and you're grateful at the way she dresses you back in your slip so gently, grateful how she tucks the blankets around you. Once she's settled back beside you, you lay your head on her chest, and you look up at the stars again, listening to her heartbeat.

"I think I'd like having no roof above us here."

"What'll we do when it rains then? I don't think ya would much like gettin' all your things soaked."

"That's certainly the truth. But being intimate with you beneath the stars was beautiful."

"The most." She whispers, ghosting kisses along your hairline. "Do ya feel sore at all?"

"My knees are, a bit, but they're alright."

"I'll rub 'em for ya, help ya fall asleep?"

"I would really appreciate that, Brittany. Thank you."

"Thank ya too Santana, for gettin' sweet on me, and fallin' in love with me, and bein' my best girl every day."


	14. Home is Just Another Word For You

As a result of the fear caused by your illness, you develop an odd bit of homesickness. Not enough, of course, that you'd ever leave the island permanently, but enough that you feel an ache to see your mother, your sisters, your _abuelita._ Enough that you feel an unfamiliar urge to breathe in the dingy air of the city, and climb so many stairs up to the apartment you'd spent most of your life in.

You whisper it to Brittany late one night, while she runs her fingers through your hair, while your head lays on her chest. She nods slowly, soberly, and you wonder if she worries that she's not enough. You wonder if she worries you'll go back home now, and not return. But you won't. It's not your home anymore. You've grown and you've left, just as you would have had you married any of the boys in your neighborhood. Your soul is married to Brittany's, wedding beside, and your home is with her now. Your home is the place she builds, certainly, but more than that, your home is with her fingers running through your hair. Your home is with her kisses each night, starting off gentle and soft, then growing more and more passionate, as draws you nearer, presses the small of your back, loves you fully and completely.

"I'd like very much if you came with me, if you can spare the time." You murmur, wanting her to know how badly you want that, yet how you'd understand if she couldn't.

"To the city?" She asks you, furrowing her brow.

"You don't have to, if it's not something you'd like to do."

"I would like to go with ya, very much. If ya really want that."

"I do. I'd like for them to know you, even if they can't know the special way I love you. You're all the world to me, and I can't imagine you not having met them."

"When did ya wanna go?"

"Next week, possibly. Before I start at school."

"I can come next week. I'm just about done with the house, and I'll feel good knowin' that maybe I could move ya in when we get back."

"Brittany." You sigh, or rather, you _swoon._ "You're so good to me."

"Just givin' ya the best I can."

You finish up at the bar on the following Monday. Mr. Edja said you could remain in the apartment until the first of September as a thank you for your work, and you thank him profusely for the generosity. When you hand the keys to Art, who you'd trained to take over your position, it's bittersweet. You wouldn't have met Brittany, had it not been for that bar, and you're eternally grateful you had the opportunity. But you're ready to move on, ready to start your life with the woman you love, ready to teach the children of the island all you possibly can.

On Tuesday, you board the ferry with Brittany and your valise. She's dressed in her finest trousers, and you smile at her. You love that she didn't borrow a dress, you love that she's _her,_ and while you watch land approach, you realize the old you would have felt embarrassment at her attire, that you'd have wished she would have dressed as someone other than herself, for the sake of propriety. But she looks beautiful, _dashing,_ even, in her pressed clothes and wool cap, and you wish more than anything that you could kiss her right there.

She loves looking out the window of the train. She can enjoy it now, in a way she couldn't when you went to Arlington. So you keep smiling at her, and beneath your hat in your lap, you squeeze her hand, telling her how much you love her, how happy you are she's joining you on this journey, and you breathe in the diesel smell, feeling good to be taking her home with you.

When you get to your building in the city, after riding the elevated train down town, you watch as she admires it. You watch her study every brick, as if they hold your history. And they do. So many years of it, running home to this building, playing jacks outside, drawing hopscotch courts for the little girls, tending their wounded knees and hurt feelings, playing the little mother, because your own has worked so hard. It pangs you for a moment, but you know she's always wanted your happiness, and now, now you've finally found it.

You lead her up the stairs, and you hear the clamor of little feet behind the door. You smile so wide at the thought of the babies, and you're careful to open the door, in case one of them is directly behind it. Little Mariana jumps into your arms immediately, and you cradle her to your chest, smoothing her dark braids, kissing her sweaty forehead.

"Hello, my baby love." You whisper to her. "I've missed you so much."

"Santana! Santana! Is this your friend? Are you the fishing lady?" Carlota cries out, looking up at Brittany with wide eyes.

" _Basta, Lottie,_ " Your mother admonishes gently. "Give them a bit of space."

"'S alright, Mrs. Lopez, I'm real excited to see ya all too." Brittany shrugs, extending her hand to Carlota. "Pleased to meet ya."

"You talk funny." Concetta clings to your skirt, looking up at Brittany.

"That's how everyone talks where she comes from, _mi amor,_ like Mama and Papa and Abuela speak in a different way because they come from Mexico."

"You talk like that too, Ana?" Mariana gazed up at you. "You will stay there?"

"I am staying there, love." You coo, though it breaks your heart a little to tell her. "I'm going to be a teacher, help all the little children on the island learn to read and write, just like I did when we used to work on your letters together."

"You can be my teacher, you can move back to your bed and I can sleep with you."

"Alright, alright. Mari, let us get Santana and Miss Pierce settled, come now." Your Mama takes the baby from your arms and plants her back on her feet. "Santana, if you'll sleep in Mariana's bed tonight, I've made up yours for Miss Pierce?"

"Oh, thank you, Mama." You kiss her cheeks and hug her tightly. "I've missed you."

"I'm alright on the floor, Misus Lopez, I don't want to put none of ya out." Brittany how's her head sheepishly, holding her hat in her hands.

"It's okay s—Brittany, I'd end up with Mariana in bed with me no matter what. You take my bed, I'll be just fine in hers." You smile, trying not to get too drawn in my her slight blush, trying to remind yourself not to slip again and almost call her _sweetheart. "¿Donde es abuelita?"_

"She's coming up from the market soon, she got a bit of a late start. Come, sit, take your things off, you're a guest here now, my grown girl. I thought I would lose you when you married away, but now, a teacher. _Estoy tan orgullosi di ti, mi corazon."_

"Gracias, Mama." You blush…at both of her statements. "But please, let me help while Brittany plays with the girls?"

" _Oh…bien."_ She concedes, hugging you again. "Miss Pierce, would you like some lemonade."

"Please, Ma'am, 's just Brittany. And lemonade would be swell."

You help your mama in the kitchen, hearing the uproarious sounds from the sitting room. It pangs you a bit, hearing her with the children. It pangs you because you miss them, but also…much greater, because you know you can never give such children to Brittany. It makes you ache and twist inside, until you feel quite ill, and sit down at the table. Your mother, she assumes it's your illness, and she brings you cool water and a wet rag, blotting your head. Because you can't confess your deepest thoughts, you gaze up at the crucifix on the wall, and you slowly sip your water, closing your eyes and smiling through that low, lonesome ache.

Your grandmother comes home and you hear her questioning Brittany in broken English in the other room. You fight the urge to go and protect her, and you stand again, chopping the onions for dinner, and assuring your mother that you're alright. When the meal is ready, the big girls clamor for Brittany's sides, and you smile when Mariana takes her place beside you, insistent upon holding your right hand as you eat. She's such a good little girl, and you hope, truly, that she doesn't love you less now that you'll be gone for good. You hope, maybe, that sometimes in the summer, your mother will let you take them out to the island and into the fresh air, you hope you haven't lost them, because the pain of that would be too much to bear.

When dinner is through, and you've helped clean up, you ask your mother if she'd mind much if you walked with the girls and Brittany down to the Seaport. You think Brittany would like the tallships, and you know the girls love after dinner walks. She agrees to allow it, even over your grandmothers protests that it's far too late for the children to be out, and you help them into shoes and hats, kissing little foreheads as you do.

Outside, they run ahead of you, Mariana stumbling to keep up, and Brittany remains at your side, shortening her strides so she doesn't outwalk you in unfamiliar territory. You love her for that, for the way she matches you, for the way she hides her nervousness behind chivalry, and you wish you could kiss her right there, beneath the crackling electric lights that line the streets of your city.

"Ya have been actin' awful quiet today. Are ya feelin' sick?"

"Did you ever wish for children?" You ask her quietly, and quickly lowering your gaze.

"For children?"

"My sisters love you. You're so good with them. Did you ever wish for some of your own?"

"I…yes. Sometimes I did. But, I don't need to have any. I've got ya, and that's enough."

"I wish…I wish I could give them to you, like a proper wife."

"I'm not a proper husband, Santana." She whispers. "Perhaps I should tell ya I want to be a proper wife too, but I proper wife means I don't get to love ya, and I'd rather love ya, and play with all the other children, than not have ya."

"Are you certain? Because…"

"I sure am, don't be sayin' nonsense things anyhow. I thought we talked about this when I told ya that ya could be my wife better than anything else. Have ya changed your mind about wanting them?"

"No. No I haven't. I'd just never seen you with children before today and had to make certain."

"I think your sisters are swell, and I'm glad I get to know them. But don't ya worry, I'm not racin' off to bear any. It'd sure be hard fishin' in that condition."

You laugh, deeply and wholeheartedly, and Brittany gives you a crooked smile before she links arms with you. You love her, you love her, you love her, and when you reach the port, you watch her eyes glaze with wonder at the busy comings and goings of the ships in the harbor. It's bigger than anything you know she's ever seen, and with the girls leading, she leans into the railing with you still at her side.

"Brit-tany! Brit-tany!" Mariana cries out. "It's the biggest! It's the biggest! It's bigger than your boat?"

"Much bigger." Brittany laughs, taking her little hand. "I wish ya could see mine, looks like a dinghy next to this."

"Ana! Ana! When can we see Brit-tany's boat?"

"We'll have to ask Mama about that, _mi corazon._ It's an awful far journey for a little girl."

"I can do it! I'm so big now! I can go with Lottie and Etta!"

"Can we? Can we?" Carlotta asks, getting just as excited as the baby.

"Yes! Can we?" Concetta chimes in.

"I'll talk to Mama, loves, but not quite yet. We all have to start school very soon, right?"

"Even me!"

"Even you, Mari, now that you're so big."

You spend an hour staring at the tallships, Brittany as awed as the little girls, until it begins to get late, and you see Mariana's eyes droop. You lift her up into your arms, and she falls asleep against your shoulder, while Brittany takes Concetta and Carlotta's hands, and you lead your group back toward home.

In her chair, your _abuela_ sits rocking when you come in, and she nods wordlessly at the sleeping baby, as if to say her point was proven. You duck your head, but your mother smiles at you, and while she helps the older girls dress for bed, you change Mariana gently, careful not to wake her from her deep slumber. It feels like home to you, and you kiss her and tuck her beneath the sheets, before taking your nightclothes into the bathroom and changing away from anyone else's eyes. Concetta and Carlotta and tucked in together when you come out, and Brittany takes her turn, while you sit beside your mother and let her brush out your long dark hair.

"They miss you something fierce." Your mother tells you. "And so do I."

" _Lo siento, Mama."_ You murmur, closing your eyes under your mother's touch.

"You should not be. You're very brave, my biggest girl. Starting an adventure, like in your storybooks."

"I fell in love…with it there. I miss you all terribly every day, but I feel as if I'm meant to be on that island between the ocean and the bay."

"I know, and tonight, the girls were whispering about visiting you like some great secret. I wish I could too, but if you'd like to have them out sometime, I can send them."

"Oh, Mama, really?"

"Really, _mija,_ they would love to spend time with you, if Brittany will allow you to have guests as a boarder."

"She will." You swallow hard, hating to lie to your mother. "She's my dearest friend too, not just a landlady. And the little ones have taken to her."

"She certainly is interesting, and a very sweet girl." You mother sets the brush down and kisses your forehead. "Goodnight, _mi amor,_ I'm so glad to have you home."

You pull the covers over you and Mariana, and she curls into your side. Brittany comes out of the bathroom, and she gets into your bed, smiling at you in the low light. You smile back and mouth the words _I love you,_ a secret between you two, and she mouths it back. There's something about tonight, of her being in your childhood home, with your family, that makes your heart pound in your chest, and you wish the other bed wasn't so far away, so you could take her hand and squeeze it.

"Santana?" She whispers.

"Brittany?"

"Thank ya for bringin' me here. I really like your family."

"They really, truly like you too, Brittany."


	15. It's Deeper Dear By Far Than Any Ocean

After you leave the city with promises to your Mama that you'll return to visit soon, and promises to the little girls that you'll have them to visit once you're settled into the room they believe you're renting from Brittany, you return to the island. A few days before school is set to begin, you pack your things safely in your trunk and valise. Because Brittany had wanted to keep the end result a surprise, you haven't seen the house in nearly two weeks, and butterflies flutter in your stomach when she knocks on the door to your apartment one final time. You'll have to return to the bar to collect your final paycheck from Mr. Edja—and you're sure you'll return with Brittany on occasion to drink across the bar from Art—but there's a certain finality to closing that door behind you. A certain thrill to starting your new life with her, the love of your life.

She insists on carrying your trunk on her shoulder down the beach, and you walk beside her with your valise, smiling at the strong, beautiful woman in her trousers and wool cap. The strong, beautiful woman who loves you, and who build you a house on the sea. You wear your best grey dress, and your hair in careful curls, lips painted red, and your charm bracelet carefully clasped on your wrist. She's in her best too, you can see it, though she doesn't say. Her suspenders don't fall below her shoulders, but hug her back, pressing her dark blue shirt against the muscles there, straining from the weight of everything you own. You long to kiss her then, to pull her close by the straps and tell her how you love her so, but you wait, and you follow, watching her bare feet trail in the sand, leaving prints.

When you reach the house, you press the back of your palm to your mouth. Though you've seen the shell, finished and shingled, there's something about knowing it's finished inside, something about knowing it's _yours,_ the house that Brittany built as your home, the place you'll fall asleep with her every night for as long as she'll have you that just astonishes you. Even with your trunk on her shoulder, she still offers you a hand up the stairs, and you swoon, smiling at her with fluttering lashes as you take it.

"Welcome home, Santana." She beams, opening up the heavy wooden door for you. "I hope ya like it."

"Oh, Brittany, there's nothing about it that I couldn't."

Just stepping inside the foyer with her, you take in your home. The furniture you'd chosen together is so carefully arranged, some of the quilts and afghans from her old home arranged over them, and it looks like more than just a house. It looks like a home, like _your_ home, and once she settles the trunk down on the floor, you step closer to her, wrapping your arms around her neck to kiss her. You love her, you love what she's built for you, and you have to show her as much, because words just aren't enough.

"Ya haven't even seen the rest'a the house, and already ya feel like kissin' me that way. Wow-whee, just wait 'til I show ya the upstairs."

You take a breath as she leads you up the stairs. She may well have built you a castle, with this house, and you can't help but think of _castles in the air,_ from your favorite story, your favorite author. You'd dreamed of such a thing, like Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy, yet you could never quite fit the pieces together in your mind. You'd never felt the strange pull of affection toward the boys in your high school, you'd never dreamed of marrying them and bearing their children, and yet, you dreamed of this moment, before you ever imagined it was possible. You dreamed of someone loving you like this, and loving them in return. You dreamed of Brittany, before you ever set foot on this island for the first time.

She shows you the three bedrooms upstairs. The first two furnished simply, both guest rooms, but one, she insists, she'll pretend is hers, for company's sake. The last one though, the biggest, the most beautiful, and the one you'll share, she tells you she made for you. She ordered the roll top desk, the bureau, the great mirror, all just for you. And on the bed, she's spread the quilt from her mother's marriage chest, blues and reds and purples sprawled out in an old-fashioned wedding-ring pattern. At the sight, you feel your breath leave your chest, and your knees go weak. Though no priest would ever bless your union, nor may God, in your heart of hearts, today she's become your wife. Today, she is yours, eternally, _infinitely._

"I'd like to cook you dinner tonight, sweetheart." You whisper, leaning your head on her shoulder. "Do we have anything for me to cook?"

"Davey dropped me off a whole mess'a oysters, a quart'a buttermilk, and some kind'a greens. I was just gonna shuck 'em to eat raw, but if ya want'a cook, I'm never gonna argue that with ya."

"It would mean a lot to me if I could, please. You built this beautiful home for us, you filled shelves with books for me, and hauled ice out this long way for an icebox. You've shown me today already what marriage feels like, and I'd like to be proper and cook for you. Are you hungry yet?"

"I'm always hungry, ya know that." Brittany laughs. "Should I go on and shuck the oysters so ya can fry 'em up for us?"

"If you wouldn't mind. I'll make a buttermilk batter for them, and see what I can do with the greens."

"I brought us some champagne too, I wanted to toast ya, once ya officially got here."

"Brittany." You swoon, stepping back from the cupboard you were about to open, and carefully avoiding Lord Tubbington beneath your feet. "I love you."

"I love ya too." She pulls you into her arms, and kisses you something fierce. "And I love that I get to keep ya with me always."

"For the rest of my days." You whisper, a solemn vow. "Right here, in the home we share."

As you cook, your body buzzes. Maybe it's from the champagne you sip, bubbles tickling your nose, or maybe it's something greater. Maybe it's knowing that the rest of your life has just begun, in the house where you can hear the waves from the ocean lapping the shore, the house you share with the woman who has eyes bluer than that ocean, and who loves you more than you ever thought you could be loved. The thought of it, and the feeling of those eyes on you, while she shucks oysters with ease, makes your knees weak, and you smile across the room at her.

When dinner is ready, you sit across the table from her, pile of fried oysters and a simple green salad between you. The champagne has you lightheaded, and you savor each bite of the fresh, sea-briny shellfish. More that that though, you savor the way she does, the way she sings the praises of the meal you prepared, the way she leans over and kisses you, lips greasy and soft. You think that you love this more than you've ever loved anything, no matter how many dinners you've shared in your old apartment, or on the beach, or in the bar. This is different. This is the two of you, at home for the first time.

You bathe in the claw foot tub after dinner, and after you unpack your things, while Brittany finishes screwing in the window shutters. With lavender salts in the tub, you let your body soak, until it's soft and pruny. When you've finished up, you wrap yourself in your dressing robe, and when you pad down the hall to the bedroom, you find Brittany on the bed, unlacing her boots. She smiles at you from where she sits, and slowly, demurely, you close the door behind you, and make your way to her.

"Ya always look especially beautiful after your bath." She whispers, and her hands find a tentative purchase on your breasts beneath your robe. The silk rubs against you, and the breath you suck in is shuddering. "Most gorgeous girl in the whole world, even though I ain't seen much of it, and I can't wait to love ya in our own bed."

"Our own bed." You whisper, stepping in the space between her legs. "My wife."

"My wife." She whispers back, a reverence in her voice, and tears in her eyes that you've never seen. At the words, the cross on your chest doesn't hang heavy, but feels right, like your love is sanctioned, like this, this love you share with Brittany is special, _worthy._ "My wife."

"I'm so blessed to have found my one true love."

"Let me love ya, Santana, right here."

You just nod, as her fingers play with your sash. It's beyond your wildest dreams, the way she lays you back so tenderly, tucked away from the world, so far down the beach from civilization. In her untucked shirt and trousers, she hovers above you, long braid brushing your shoulder. Your breasts spill from beneath grey silk, and Brittany kisses just above there, letting her lips linger on your clavicle, letting her calloused fingers dance above your knee. You grasp at the loops on her trousers, and you rid her of them, feeling that in the privacy of your bedroom, you should be bared to each other fully.

She loves to love you. You've learned that long ago, and tonight is no different. Her eyes change when she sees you in undress, the blue darker, the black wider. Her cheeks crimson, and her shoulders soften. She's the her that she only ever is for you. She's not "boss," or "Pierce," she's not a girl in boy's clothing. She's not Captain Pierce's daughter, or the sister of a lost brother. She's no one but _yours,_ and when she kisses you, you taste how freeing that is for her. Though perhaps she feared it less, perhaps she met more odd girls, like the two of you are, to find such love when you're out of the ordinary is something truly special, something you cherish so close to your chest, not only because you _can't_ share it but also because it means far too much to yell from the rooftops.

When she presses her fingers to the intimate place between your thighs, you burn. The discarded silk beneath you feels cool on your back, the new sheets on your bed rumple beneath your legs, and you tilt your hips up as the space between widens, opening yourself further to her, inviting her to have all of you, because she's all you'll have for the rest of time.

"I love to feel ya like this." She breathes, and you flush, surprised that she chooses to speak while she does such things to you. She doesn't, usually. Words seem as though they'd be a bit…strange in such a time, but tonight, tonight they feel right. Tonight, they enhance that sense of forbidden pleasure as she strokes, strokes, strokes. "I love even more to kiss ya there. I've never told ya that before, but it feels real good."

"Brittany."

"'S it alright if I kiss ya there now. I know ya don't always like it."

It's not the truth, though you've told her it as such. When she kisses you between your thighs, it's a sensation so surreal that you can barely breathe. But sometimes it feels too much, sometimes it feels too far past the things that are right and holy. Sometimes it makes you forget your name, and that you shouldn't love anything quite so much. But tonight, tonight you've offered all of yourself to her, and tonight, you nod your permission, watching her face spread into a grin, and her eyes alight with fire.

Slowly, Brittany slides down, and she props herself up on her elbows, looking up at you. You crane your neck to meet her eyes, and your breath catches again, watching her tongue wet her lips, watching her bend to kiss the inside of your right thigh, watching her nose draw a path to your center, inhaling the lavender you'd soaked in while you'd bathed. You know that it's quite strange to think, but on the new white sheets, you imagine yourself to be her real bride. You imagine flowers in your hair, and a ring on your finger. You imagine her, standing up with you before the priest, with that grin on her face. You imagine her carrying you over the threshold into this new home of yours. You imagine all sort of impossible things, as your body buzzes and shakes from her pleasuring, but when she smiles up at you again, you realize they were never quite so impossible after all.

You express your love for each other for longer than you could have imagined, longer than you ever have. When you finish, you prop your head on her shoulder and you look out at the moonlit night that streams through the big open window. You can make out where the white capped ocean meets the sand, and you inhale deeply, taking in the scent of the ocean. Growing up in your cramped New York City apartment, you never imagined you'd sleep beside the sea, and even taking the girls to Coney Island on the train, you'd never thought the sea could be as glorious as it read in your books.

"Ya like it here, pretty lady?" Brittany asks you, pushing away sweat matted hair from your brow.

"More than I ever thought possible. You've made all my dreams come true, Brittany, dreams I didn't even know I had."

"I just wanted to love ya best." She shrugs a little. "I've got one more thing for ya tonight, before we go to sleep."

"What else could you possibly have gotten me?"

"I didn't get it for ya, I already had it. I forgot about it, and then found it when I was movin'. I've been promisin' it to ya."

You furrow your brow, trying to understand what she's talking about. She doesn't give you much time to worry over it though, as she gets up, wrapped in her long-discarded shirt, and goes to her bureau, digging through the drawer, until she returns with an engraved silver box. Before she gets back under the quilt with you, she sets the box in your lap, and you gasp, looking at how intricate the box is. It may be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and if you didn't feel the pull to look in her eyes, you'd stare at it forever.

"This was my Mama's. Pop gave it to me when I was real young, but I've never been much for the fancy things. I thought ya might like it."

"Brittany…"

"Ya can go ahead and open it up. I put something else inside'a it for ya that I told ya about."

In your heart of hearts, you know what it is, and you're paralyzed by the enormity of this. Slowly, you unlatch the box, and you reveal a long gold chain, a cameo brooch, and an opal ring. Tears spring to your eyes, and you look back to Brittany, waiting for her to speak.

"The ring's the one I told ya about, the one my brother bought. But the other stuff was my Mama's. Pop said she loved real fancy things, back when he gave me this box, but she didn't have a whole lot. I know ya have your cross ya wear, but if ya wanted to wear the ring on her chain, it would mean a whole lot to me. I know ya can't go around wearin' it on your finger at work like I'd like, but, ya could keep it with ya if ya wanted."

"I…" You take a deep breath. "Oh, Brittany, it's so much. It's all so beautiful."

"Ya know what I'm asking with the ring though, right? Ya said I was your wife, and I want ya to know I think of ya as my wife too."

"I know." You nod, grazing the ring with your fingers.

"He never got'to get married, and I can't give ya a wedding in a church in front of everyone in the town, and all of your family neither. But I can give ya a wedding tonight, just the two of us right here in the bed I'll get to share with ya for all my days."

"At home I'd like to wear it on your finger." Your voice cracks as you speak. "At home, we both know I'm your wife. Out of the house, I'll wear it beneath my clothes on the chain, but here…here I have nothing to hide."

"Can I put it on ya then?" Her eyes light up with excitement, and she plucks the ring from the box, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

"I'd love nothing more." You whisper, watching her slide it down your left index finger. "It fits."

"Perfectly." She murmurs, turning your hand over to kiss the inside of the finger, sealing it there. "I, Brittany, take thee, Santana."

"And I, Santana, take thee, Brittany." You close your eyes, and you can't help but speak what comes next, the words you've heard uttered so many times on the altar in church. "Pour forth the help of your blessing on these your servants, so that in the union of marriage they may be bound together in mutual affection, in likeness of mind, and in shared holiness."

"Is that a prayer?" She kisses your eyelids, your nose, your lips.

"Part of one. Someone else usually gives the blessing on us, but tonight, we'll bless ourselves."

"I don't know much about that, but I know it makes ya happy, and I want ya happy always."

"With you, my love, there'll never be anything else."


	16. Let's Dream of What There Will Be

Before the sun rises on your first day of school, you're curled into Brittany's side. Butterflies rise up in your stomach, as she stretches her arms above her head, and rolls out of bed. Though it's Sunday, Mr. Woodhull has asked that you come to learn the ways of the school, and that later, the children come so you can assess them. Though it's only the second day of September, there's a certain shift in the air. In your chest, you can feel summer drawing to a close, despite the heat, and you watch Brittany as she changes from her pajamas into her trousers and short sleeved shirt. The winter will be stranger this year, when you can't watch her ferry come in each day, bringing her back from across the icy water, but you shake your head. It's too early to think about winter, it's too early to think about anything but your first day teaching the children.

She kisses you before she leaves for work, having gone the last three Sundays to get as much fishing time in as she can before the weather grows cold, and each day she kisses you, you swoon. Each day, though it's only been a few, you feel the weight of the opal on your finger, and the gravity of being her _wife,_ even if it's only your private thing, hits you hard. You know she'll come home to you each night. You know you'll sit for dinner together, and maybe she'll make love to you. You know that there's nowhere in the world you'd rather be than in this beautiful house, on this beautiful island between the ocean and the bay.

"Be safe." You whisper, playing with the end of her braid.

"I always am for ya." She promises. "Show 'em all how smart ya are today. I'm real proud'a ya, Santana."

"Thank you, Brittany. I'll see you tonight."

After she leaves, you don't fall back to sleep. Instead, you get up and make the bed, carefully tucking in the corners. You go downstairs to make yourself an egg and some coffee, and once you've eaten, you clean the kitchen thoroughly, before you begin to dress for work. Your soft blue dress seems the most appropriate, and before you button yourself into it, you get into your nylons and brassiere, and carefully slip the ring from your finger lest you forget. Opening the box, you remove the long gold chain, and let the ring slide down to the center of the chain, before you fasten it to your neck. It falls just below your cross, and you smile at the sight of it there before you cover it with your dress.

While you curl your hair, you catch sight of the brooch in the box, and you stop what you're doing to touch it reverently. In the excitement of Brittany giving you a ring, you'd failed to recognize how meaningful the pin from her mother she can't remember actually is, and you pick it up slowly, holding it to your lapel, before choosing to fasten it there. You wonder about her often, Brittany's mother, you wonder what she would think of her daughter, wonder how proud she'd be, wonder if she'd accept _you,_ but to wear something of hers, you feel a strange sort of special, and you smile, looking back in the mirror.

The walk to school is long, and you clutch the bag containing a primer, a packet of chalk, your best pen, and the leftover chicken you'd packed for lunch. Though you're the teacher, you feel as you used to on your first day as a student, and a sickening nervousness rises up in your lower belly. What if you're not good enough? What if the children don't listen to you? What if Mr. Woodhull regrets his choice to hire you? Then what will you do? Then what excuse will you use as to why you absolutely must stay on the island?

Your feelings are forgotten after you greet Mr. Woodhull's secretary, and you arrive in your classroom. Carefully, you write your name on the blackboard, _Miss Lopez,_ in dainty, looping cursive. The map of the world is pinned to the wall beside the blackboard, and the great American flag hangs over it. Tentatively, you look over the Asian continent, and you wonder where your father is now, after the devastating bombs you'd heard about on the radio. You wonder when, and _if_ the surrender will really come, and whether he'll get to come home.

Shaking your head, you watch your pupils begin to arrive, and mill about before they find their seats. There are twelve fourth-graders you'll be teaching, the same age as Carlotta, but your toes tingle in anxiety, and your fingers grip the opal ring beneath your dress. They're in all sorts of attire, as they find their seats one by one, and you smile watching them, hoping that you'll be the kind of teacher who can bring more good into their lives, the kind of teacher who can shape a love of learning for them, and encourage them, the way you'd been encouraged so much in your past.

The morning is spent learning their names, and assessing both their math and reading skills so you can adapt your lessons to suit the majority of them. So many remind you of Brittany, sea-rough, with golden hearts and shining eyes, and you think you'll like this as more than just a job to contribute to the expenses in your home, you think you'll love teaching, and _learning_ from them. By the time you dismiss them at noon, you're buzzing with energy and excitement, and rather than go home, you make your way to the docks, hoping, maybe, that you haven't missed Brittany's boat coming in.

When you see that it's not in its slip, you go into the bar, and you smile at Arthur sitting in his chair by the door. Just like you used to do, once everything was set up, and before the boats came in, he's so deeply engrossed in _Cannery Row,_ that he doesn't even look up. Seeing him there, you're so grateful that Mr. Edja gave your old job over to him, grateful that he's found something to do with his time. The war has taken so much—you'd been sick to your stomach listening to Ed Murrow tell of the horrors in Japan, whether it was the enemy or not, the loss of human life makes you ill—but you're glad that it hasn't taken everything from Arthur, and hopefully, if it ends soon enough, from your family as well.

"Good afternoon, Arthur." You say softly, not wanting to alarm him.

"Miss Santana." He tips his hat, reaching behind himself to tuck his book in the leather pocket in the back of his chair. "How was your first day of school?"

"Luckily, it was largely uneventful." You smile. "We have a bit of catching up on reading to do, but I think before I know it, they'll be reading Steinbeck like you and I."

"A whole island full of bookworms?" He laughs. "Maybe then we'll get a library."

"How lovely would that be?" You sigh wistfully. "I am grateful, at the very least, that I have you to trade with. Sometimes waiting for new books from my mother is painful."

"You might have to read a bit slower then, save yourself from the book drought. I only have so many, and you've read most of 'em."

"It's true, back when I was so close to the library I'd read even more quickly, as if the books wouldn't all be there for me the next day. I just wanted to soak everything up I could possibly learn."

"And lookie now! Barely outta school yourself, and already teaching! Brittany's real proud of you, you know."

"I do."

You smile bashfully, looking down at the bag in your hands. It always jars you a little, when someone acknowledges your relationship with Brittany, safe as they may be, but it makes you feel good too. It makes it feel real, in a way that your beach castle and nights in a shared bed can't quite. It makes you feel like your love extends out into the world, in the place you can't wear your wedding band on your finger. It makes you feel ecstatic, because there are people who love you both, no matter the sin you're committing.

"Alcott's coming in." Arthur sighs wistfully, as you turn to look out the window, and see Brittany standing at the wheel, guiding her into her slip. "See how the fellas move? That's how you know it was a real big catch."

"You must miss it a lot." You purse your lips, keeping your eyes on the boat in the harbor.

"More than anything in the world." He tells you. "Mikey took me out last week on his rowboat, left the chair right on the dock and rigged up a strap so I could sit straight. Caught a few fluke with my pole, and at least gave me a taste of it. Nothing like running around the Alcott though. Best days of my life, especially since Brittany took over as captain. She's real good at it, and she's still real good to me."

"She cares a lot about all of you." You breathe, though you're not certain you should give much away about her. What she says behind closed doors is private, what she says to you is kept only in your heart.

"Oh! We know it! And we care a lot about her too, that's why we helped build that house of yours. We all hoped Cap'd find someone who'd make her happy as you do!"

"I try." You whisper, lowering your voice in hopes that Arthur does the same. "I certainly try."

"Go on out there. I know you didn't walk all the way up here to talk to me. I'll wheel on out in a bit, I still love watching 'em throw the fish on the dock."

At Arthur's encouragement, you go outside and sit on the bench. As always, you hold your book in your hand, pretending not to be entirely interested in the work that goes on in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Brittany grin at you, and you give her back a demure smile, looking up over the pages of your novel.

The unloading of the boat takes nearly an hour, and when they're finished, Brittany struts toward you, roll of bills in her front pocket, and pink sunburn on her nose. You wish that you could kiss her right there, rub her nose, then wrap your arms around her neck. You wish she could dip you back on the dock and look into your eyes. You wish a lot of things, but instead, you settle for a soft squeeze on her shoulder. You settle for the light of her smile.

"Hiya Miss Lopez." Her cheeky wink makes you laugh, and she winks again. "How was the first day for ya?"

"It was very nice. I had quite a few who reminded me of you."

"Then ya might be in for some trouble. Be warned, I was no good at school, and mighta given a few teachers a hard time b'fore Pop took me out and brought me down to the docks."

"I think I'd be alright with that." You smile, picturing a small and petulant Brittany, who just wanted to be outside and near the water. "Good catch today?"

"Best one all season! And I was thinkin', maybe I should take ya to dinner to celebrate that and your first day. How do ya feel about that?"

"I think I'd enjoy that quite a bit. Did you want to go home first, or go just now?"

"I stink to the high heavens, I ought to go bathe before I set foot in the bar, and it's too early for dinner."

"That's awful fancy of you." You let the corners of your mouth turn up. "I remember quite a few times you'd come in straight off the boat."

"Different just gettin' a drink and takin' my girl to dinner." She grins at you, and you feel your knees weaken, like they do every time she calls you her girl.

Together, you walk down the beach, and you stop to pick up sea glass. Though you'd been collecting it since you first arrived on the island, in your new house, you've put it to use in jars on windowsills, catching light as it streams through. Brittany always finds you pieces too, bright blues from Milk of Magnesia bottles, reds from automobile glass, the most beautiful smoothed shards that she presents to you with her lopsided grin. Sometimes too, you send them to the little girls. You can almost hear their squeals in your mind when they receive them, and they've shown you them in their treasure boxes. It's strange, that it's just smoothed glass, but it feels so precious, and you wonder, you wonder, if other things in life are the same way.

While Brittany bathes, you wash your new treasures in the sink, and you change from your work dress into a soft green floral. You remove Brittany's mother's brooch from your day dress, and you pin it again to this one. In the mirror, as you fix your hairpins, you see the chain around your neck, and you smile again, anxious to come home from dinner and slip it back on your finger, anxious for the heady feeling of knowing that at nineteen, you've found your love, your soulmate, your _wife._

"Ya look real pretty like that." Brittany comes out from her bath, and she smiles at you, standing with a crisp white towel wrapped around her midsection. "And I really like that ya wore Mama's pin."

"Do you wonder about her often?" You ask, turning to face her as she chooses a clean shirt from the bureau and buttons it up, standing there in just that.

"Every day, I do. I only know her from Pop's stories, and he don't tell them often enough. She was a teacher too, ya know."

"Was she?" You step closer to her, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

"Just for a year. Back then, she wasn't allowed to stay on when she married Pop, but he says she was real smart. Ya probably could've talked with her for hours on end about books and things. I'd probably know how to read much better'n I can if she'd not passed. Bet she's turnin' in her grave that school wasn't quite right for me."

"I think a mother is proud of her child regardless." You tell her, fixing her top buttons, when she does them wrong. "Your running a whole fishing crew is just about the most impressive thing I can think of."

"I think she might've preferred we left this island. But I can't be certain, since I only met her for just a minute before she was gone. Makes me glad sometimes that you and I can't be havin' any babies. I wouldn't want a baby takin' ya away from me, like I took my mama from Pop."

"You didn't take her away, Brittany." You soothe her, cradling her face in your hands. "I was in the room with Mama both times she gave birth, and there are so many things that can go wrong. Something went wrong for yours, but that's not your fault."

"I feel like it sometimes. But I see ya in her pin, and I feel like maybe she lives on or something. I don't know about all the church stuff like you do, and the spirits and angels."

"I believe she's with God." You tell her, letting her fingers caress the cross around your neck, then trail down to touch your wedding ring. "And I believe she'd be happy that the baby girl she never got to see grow up is happy and well."

"I like to imagine she'd've liked ya a whole lot. She looks like she was a sophisticated lady to me, and since ya are the most sophisticated lady I know…"

"Brittany…"

"Ya really are. And I'm real proud of ya today. I ought to put on some pants, 'cause I'm really lookin' forward to takin' ya out tonight."

"I'm looking forward to it too." You murmur, and you kiss her lips, slow and gentle, full of love.

When she finishes dressing, you do your walk down the beach in reverse, looking again for glass. The bar is crowded when you reach the dock, but since Jacob knows you, he finds you a table in the corner, and brings you menus. Brittany orders fried shrimp, and you order the scallops, sipping contently on your gin rickey as she swigs from her beer bottle. Though you can't hold her hand there, you exchange smiles and glances across the table, the sort of young and in love you once only dreamed of.

You think that perhaps you'd like her to take you back to Cherry Grove, like you went last summer. You think you'd like to dance with her while the band plays, and perhaps kiss her on the very same beach where she first told you she loved you. You'd like to do it again this time, when you're not afraid, when you don't need strong drinks to let you feel. You'd like to be with her, in a place where you can be—where you can perhaps even wear your wedding ring, if you'd like—and you'd like to be there with her soon.

"Can you take me back to that bar we went to last summer?" You murmur, picking with your fork the food on your plate, a habit of yours that would drive your mother mad. "I'd like to dance with you there."

"Right now?" Her eyes widen dramatically, and you laugh.

"I don't think that would be wise, I shouldn't show up to school after a night there. It may be irresponsible of me to even drink gin tonight. I might have some headache in the morning."

"I hope not. I'll leave out some Anacin for ya, in case."

"You're so very good to me, Brittany."

"Hey! Hush up!" Arthur calls from behind the bar, turning up the radio. "President Truman's on the radio!"

" _The thoughts and hopes of all America—indeed of all the civilized world—are centered tonight on the battleship Missouri. There on that small piece of American soil anchored in Tokyo Harbor the Japanese have just officially laid down their arms. They have signed terms of unconditional surrender."_

"Oh, dear God." You clutch the cross on your chest, and looking around at men in the room showing a strange amount of affection by leaning into each other, holding hands, even, probably in remembrance of their fallen brothers, you reach across the table and grab Brittany's, anchoring yourself to her as you strain to hear the words through the static.

" _To all of us there comes first a sense of gratitude to Almighty God who sustained us and our Allies in the dark days of grave danger, who made us to grow from weakness into the strongest fighting force in history, and who has now seen us overcome the forces of tyranny that sought to destroy His civilization."_

"It's over." Brittany whispers to you in amazement, the only sound in the room besides President Truman's crackling voice.

" _Our first thoughts, of course—thoughts of gratefulness and deep obligation—go out to those of our loved ones who have been killed or maimed in this terrible war. On land and sea and in the air, American men and women have given their lives so that this day of ultimate victory might come and assure the survival of a civilized world. No victory can make good their loss."_

"It's over." You repeat back to her, heart fluttering in your chest, and the image of your father's face crossing your mind.

" _This is a victory of more than arms alone. This is a victory of liberty over tyranny."_

"I have to call Mama."

"Your Pop…"

"He'll be coming home, Brittany." You sigh happily. "At long last, the war is over."

There's such a flurry of excitement in the room, with whoops and hollers and the clink of glasses, that you can hardly make it to the back without four different men trying to grab you and kiss you, simply because you're there. Brittany stays close behind you though, and anyone who gets too close is met with a glare and a smack to the hand. Arthur knows immediately what you need, and he lets you through to get to the phone. You dial zero, and when you get the operator, she puts you through to your family's apartment building. The landlady answers the phone, and you check your manners, though you're beside yourself, before asking to speak with your mother. There's a long hold, while she sends her son upstairs, and when finally, finally you hear your mama's voice, you begin to cry.

"Mama! Mama, did you hear?"

"Oh, _mi corazon,_ of course I have. It's quite loud in the building right now, but God is bringing him home to us."

"How are the girls?"

"Carlotta is banging pots and pans up and down the stairs, shouting for her Papa. Little Mariana began singing _The Star Spangled Banner_ for the whole building, and Concetta is just weeping at my side. He's coming home. After nearly two years, he's coming home."

" _Gracias a dios."_ You murmur in Spanish, and for a few moments, you just listen to your mother weep on the end of the line. "He's coming home, Mama."

"He's coming home. My heart will be whole again."

When you hang up the phone, you hug Brittany in the solace of the bar office, and feel her embrace for just a moment before you return to the raucousness of the bar. The men have lifted Arthur from his chair and hoisted him up above their heads. He's taken the flag from his pole, and waves it high, as they carry him out to the dock. It's sunset, and it seems as if the whole island has streamed from their homes, waving flags, shouting, crying. You and Brittany join in the cheering crowd, and when you find David and Michael, each of them lift one of you up. You squeak a little in surprise, but you accept the flag handed to you, and wave it with tears streaming down your cheeks.

From David's shoulders, Brittany grabs your hand, and stretches your clasped fingers above her head. As the other women weep and embrace, there's nothing out of the ordinary in this gesture, and you relish it, grateful you can feel her presence in such an emotional moment. You're here with her, you're among the people you've grown to love so much, and with the knowledge that your father is returning home, you're certain that tonight you'll sleep easier than you have in several years.

"I'm so happy, Brittany." You tell her, smiling wider, and looking directly into her eyes.

"I'm so happy too, and even happier seein' how happy ya are!"


	17. Take My Heart In Sweet Surrender

Three weeks after V-J Day, you get word from your mother that your father is set to return to the United States. You're beside yourself with joy that he'll finally be returning home, that your sisters—especially little Mariana, who scarcely remembers him—will have Papa back. That your mother will have her husband and helpmate at her side. That you won't kneel at your bedside each night and pray for his safety from enemy fire or battle disease. But truth be told, deep down, you feel a small bit of concern for what his arrival home may mean for you.

Though your father has always been far keener than others in your neighborhood to allow you your own choices, you cannot help but remember that the reason you're on this small island at all is because of the favor of a friend of his. That favor was extended in a time of war, and as a young, unmarried lady, your absence from home was excusable because of such dire circumstances. Though you're no longer beholden to Mr. Edja, and you've signed a contract with Mr. Woodhull to teach school, there's a sickening feeling in your gut that perhaps your father will request for you to return to his home. That staying here, in _your_ home with Brittany will be an act of defiance against him. You know your choice, you know that you could never choose a path that led you from your beloved, but still, you fear making it.

The Friday after he is set to return to New York, you've made arrangements to return to the city. Though you long for Brittany to go with you, the midst of striped bass season means that she cannot possibly keep the Alcott out of the water for the weekend, and she must send you off on your own. She frets over you as you pack your things on Thursday night, reminding you to tuck the sea-treasures you've found for the girls among your clothes. She kisses you as often as she can, distracting you a bit from your packing. She holds you close as you fall asleep that night, pressing her face into your neck as she hugs you from behind. You feel it in every kiss, every embrace. She fears that perhaps you might not return. She fears you'll break her heart, though it's something you're utterly incapable of doing.

When you finish school on Friday, Brittany waits outside of the school building, dressed in her clean and pressed trousers, cap fitted on her head. Your valise is at her side, and you flush at her thoughtfulness. You flush, because you're so wholly blessed to have her as your love. Wordlessly, she walks at your side to the ferry, insistent upon holding your things. Though you think she'll leave you at the dock, she shrugs as she boards the boat with you, waving her hat to her father at the helm. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows about you. You wonder if he thinks it odd that a mere friend would repeatedly accompany you across the water. But you don't ask, for you're too afraid to know the answer.

A Chrysler is waiting for you on the other side, and Brittany opens the passenger door for you, and procures the key from underneath the front seat. She drives you slow and careful down Main Street, until you reach the railroad depot. The large clock overhead gives you fifteen-minutes before your train is set to leave, and you look over at Brittany, who is studying your face intently.

"Please come back to me, Santana." She whispers. "I know ya have to see your Pop, but please…"

"Brittany." You take her hand, concealed inside of the car. "I promise you, there is nothing in the world that could keep me from you. I'll be home by Sunday afternoon, and then we'll spend the whole evening together, just us two."

"I'll come pick ya up Sunday. Just…let me know if ya change your mind about the time. Because I'll be waitin' for ya around three."

"I have no intention of changing my ticket, but should anything happen, I'll call to Arthur and have him relay the message to you."

"I love ya, Santana. Best of all."

"I love you best of all too, Brittany."

For your entire train ride, you ruminate on the fears you feel, and the ones Brittany has expressed. They're so very real, but you refuse to allow them to get the best of you. You refuse to allow them to put a damper on the time you'll have with your family, and the excitement you feel over your father's arrival home. For your whole life, he's afforded you far more agency than so many girls in your neighborhood. Though he's played a bit of a matchmaker at times, setting you up on dates with the sons of friends, even through letters, he's never been bitter when you've returned home, telling him that you're uninterested. He's never pressured you to marry, and he's encouraged your schooling, telling you how smart you are, and how capable you can be in making your own choices. You cling to that, and you hope to have made him proud in landing such a career as you now have.

When you step onto the platform in Pennsylvania Station, you see him standing there waiting for you. Though you'd last seen him in his army uniform, stoic, as you all gave your teary goodbyes, today, he wears a simple grey suit and dark tie. He looks older than you remember him, you think, and he smiles widely as you step into view. You don't hesitate to rush toward him, letting him catch you in an embrace. Tears rush to your eyes as you breathe in the scent of Acqua di Parma, and intent upon not making a scene, you hold them back, not letting them roll down your cheeks.

" _Mija._ He holds your shoulders, studying you. "You look well."

"So do you, Papa. It's so wonderful to see you home again."

"I could say the same for you, Santana. I'm not the only one who's had adventures out in the world. Your mother tells me how well you're doing, and I'm looking forward to hearing you tell me all about it."

"I'm not so far away, I've had adventures far less great than you have."

"We'll save mine for a different day." He shakes his head, getting the same glazed look in his eyes that you often see on Arthur. "A schoolteacher, that's quite something."

"I was very, very lucky to have been offered the position." You tell him, and as he begins to lead you from the platform, you notice the slight gait in his walk, one he'd never had before.

"I think smarts had more to do with it than luck. I've seen you tutor your sisters in the evenings, and I'm sure your students are the lucky ones to have you."

"Papa…"

"Come along, your mother is waiting for us, and she's promised the girls you'd pick them up from school this afternoon. If you don't mind, I'll have to skip the long walk home today, and I'll get us a cab."

Knowing better than to protest, you follow your father up the stairs and out into the street. Since the men have returned home, there seems to be a joyous shift in the atmosphere of the city. Gone are the somber women, praying for the safety of their men. Gone are the yellow ribbons that once adorned every flagpole, and in their place, banners of red, white and blue. You breathe it in, smiling tenderly, and you watch as your father hails a cab, and ushers you quickly inside. He's quiet on the ride downtown, but it's a companionable quiet. You think, perhaps, he's just absorbing the fact that you're a grown woman now. When he'd left, you were barely sixteen, a stick-thin junior in high school, little Mariana so young that she scarcely remembers him but for pictures and stories, Carlotta and Concetta hardly in school. But now he's returned to you, a grown woman with a career of her own, living on an island far enough from home. It must be a lot to take in, you think, so you let him have his silence, and you fold your hands in your lap, waiting for him to speak again.

He remains quiet for the rest of the car ride, and when you get out, he tells you that he needs to go into his office downstairs from your apartment for a little while. While he'd been gone, it had been so strange to see the vacant space where his practice sat, but watching him go inside and turn the lights on, you feel your body breathe a sigh of relief. He's home, he's back to work, everything is going to be okay.

When you go upstairs, it's just your mother in the apartment. The little girls are at school, and you assume that your grandmother has gone out to do the errands that she does throughout the day. Mama pulls you into a tight embrace, and like you did with your father, you breathe her in, you smell your old home, and you smile as you always do, grateful that you came from such a place of deep love, before you found your truest.

"My love, it's so good to see you." She tells you in Spanish, taking both of your hands in hers. "Papa was so glad to be able to meet you at the station."

"I was so happy to see him." You nod, and while she begins to make coffee, you put your valise in the bedroom, smiling at the neatly made beds, the array of knickknacks collected by the girls. When you return to the kitchen, Mama has placed a cake on the table, and you pat her arm, asking her to sit down and let you finish the coffee.

"Oh, it feels so wonderful to know I'll have everyone I love here in this home tonight."

"Papa looks well. I hadn't expected him to go so quickly back to work."

"He's had to neglect his practice for nearly three years. So many in our community have been waiting for his return, so he wanted to aid them immediately." She sighs softly, as you pour the coffee into two cups, and bring it over to the table. "I do personally wish he'd have waited a bit longer, but there was no way to talk him out of it."

"Mama? May I ask you a question?"

"About his leg, I assume?"

"Yes." You look sheepishly at your coffee, concerned you've stepped out of your place. "Is he alright?"

"I was aware of the injury last year, he wrote to me after he was shot by friendly fire. He didn't want to worry you, while you were settling into your new job. He recuperated and requested to stay, but I think, perhaps, he'd have gotten better care back home than he did over there. The doctors have told him he'll walk with a limp for the rest of his life."

"Thank God he's alive." You make the sign of the cross, and you look up as you say it. "I won't mention it to him."

"I think he'd prefer that. I'm grateful that Mariana has no real memories of him before, since her words are often so unfiltered. Carlotta and Concetta have avoided the mention of it."

"Mama?"

"Yes, _mija._ "

"May I ask you another question about Papa?"

"You're awfully inquisitive today." She laughs gently. "You're beginning to sound like Mariana."

" _Lo siento, Mama."_ You look back into your coffee, and heat creeps up the back of your neck.

"No need to be sorry, Santana. I miss the years I took for granted of talking to you every day. Go ahead."

"Is Papa upset with me that I'm not returning home? I understand that the arrangement to go to Fire Island was made with the expectation that I would be helping to support our family while he was overseas, and now I've chosen to stay."

"Love, he's not upset with you. I do believe he wishes you would have come home, as do I, because we miss you so terribly, but you're a grown woman now. We knew we couldn't expect to keep you in our home forever. Perhaps we expected that you'd find a nice young man to settle down with and live in the neighborhood so we could see your children grow, but you've chosen, at least for now, to find a career. If that island is where you choose to be, then neither of us will force you back here."

"Okay." You breathe a deep sigh of relief, tears wetting your eyes. Though you wish to clutch the ring beneath your blouse, you settle for the cross on your neck, thanking the Lord that you have nothing to fear. "I do love it there, much more than I expected."

"It sounds like a beautiful place. The little ones dream about it often, ever since you mentioned that they might come visit."

"I would truly love to have them, and I believe Brittany would as well. She was charmed by them when she came to visit."

"They were charmed by her as well. Mariana asked me for two whole weeks if she could wear trousers _as Britt-any does._ " Mama shakes her head, but her smile doesn't leave. "I told her that little girls ought to wear dresses, but if she grows up to do the sort of work Miss Brittany does, then she can consider wearing them."

"Thank you for that, Mama. I know _Abuelita_ wasn't fond of how Brittany dresses."

"Your grandmother is not fond of much of anything. I reminded her of James, _who art thou who judgest another?_ Her clothes are of less concern to me than that she is an honest and decent human being. I trust your assessment of her, when you chose to become her boarder, and she was very gracious in my home."

"She's always very gracious, and she's the dearest friend I've ever known."

"Another thing I'm grateful for, knowing that you have someone nearby whom you can trust. I feel much more secure knowing you're not alone."

"Some are a bit rough there, having spent their lives on fishing boats, but her father is the ferry captain, and there is no man on the island who will disrespect her, or anyone she keeps close."

Your conversation with Mama turns less serious as you finish your coffee. She tells you the news of the neighborhood, the weddings, the births, the homecomings. She tells you about your sisters, how Carlotta has been invited into her school spelling bee, how Concetta has taken an interest in reading near as deep as your own, how Mariana often comes home from school without hair bows or sweaters, or once, even a shoe. And you listen, you take it in, you absorb every moment of the life you left, so you can store it in your mind and recount every bit of it to Brittany when you return.

Though the girls are more than capable of getting themselves back home from school, Mama had promised them you'd be there, so you fix your hair and your lipstick, and you walk over to Mott Street. While you wait outside, you remember your own days here, your grey and maroon jumper, your hair tightly braided. It feels like a thousand years ago, but as the students begin to stream outside of the heavy doors, it feels just like yesterday too. Concetta spots you first, her jumper still neat as a pin, and her books clutched tightly in her arms. You watch her take a breath before she runs to you, and you open your arms, holding her as close as you can. Carlotta comes next, holding fast to Mariana's hand, and you expand your embrace, letting them all find a space in your arms.

"Santana! Santana! Where is Britt-any?" Mariana shouts, bouncing up and down.

"Brittany was _very_ busy fishing, little one. _But,_ she sent me with some gifts for all of you."

"Gifts?" She gasps, tugging at the bottom of Concetta's jumper to make sure that she heard. "Can I see? Can I see?"

"Just as soon as we get home, you may." You smile, taking her little hand in yours. "We shouldn't take too long getting there, Mama is waiting for us."

"Where's Papa?" Carlotta asks, a crease forming in her brow.

"No worrying, Lottie, he's just down in his office. I expect he'll be home to have dinner with us."

"Can you stay this time?" Concetta purses her little lips, looking up at you.

"I wish I could." You shake your head, and all of you really, truly wishes you could see them every day, though you'd rather it be that they were closer to _you,_ not you back in the city. "But I have school on Monday, and I think Brittany and Lord Tubbington might miss me a bit too, if I didn't come back."

"Britt-any can have my bed!" Mariana announces. "And I can sleep with Lord Tubbington!"

"And where would that leave me?" You laugh, smoothing the loose tendrils of her braids.

"With me and Lord Tubbington! We can make room!"

"As much as I'd love for that to happen, Brittany can't leave her boat, and I've made a promise to teach the children in my classroom." Your heart aches a little as you say it, never feeling as torn as you do when you're with the little girls. "And perhaps very soon, Mama and I will plan for you to take a journey out on the train. How does that sound?"

"Oh, Santana, _please!_ " Concetta begs. "We want to see the ocean not just in storybooks, and gather seashells, and sleep in the big house right in the sand."

"I'll try my very best so you can come soon. But it's best not to pester Mama about it. She's got quite a bit on her mind now that Papa is home."

On your walk, the little girls show you their shortcut home, and you smile, thinking of how it's the same one you'd taken yourself all those years ago. It's so nice that they're all so close in age, that all the years your mother seemed to bear no children after you resulted eventually in two more babies of her own, and her sweet adopted daughter. It's nice that they have each other, and each time you feel awful for leaving home, you think of that, and you calm yourself.

Dinner is a flurry of activity. Even Papa, who'd once preferred quiet at the table, is boisterous, teasing the girls, smiling unabashedly at your Mama, relishing that all seven of you are sitting back around the kitchen table together. It feels good, so good, but…a big part of you misses Brittany. You know she's likely having dinner alone, eating the chicken salad you'd left for her in the refrigerator—because as much as you know she can cook herself, you'd _wanted_ to leave something she loves for her while you were gone. You know she'll crawl into bed alone, your place in her arms empty, and it makes you sadder than you think it should.

After dinner, you help the girls wash up and change into their nightgowns. For your part, you remain dressed, as a grown girl should in the company of her family, but you settle comfortably on the sofa, Mariana in your lap, and Carlotta and Concetta playing jacks on the floor. Your grandmother knits in her chair, and Papa turns on the radio for you all to listen to. It's cozy and nice, like so many nights of your childhood, and you sit quietly, taking it in, until Mariana falls asleep in your arms, and you carry her off to bed, kissing her forehead and tucking her beneath the covers. The other girls are not long to follow, and once Mama ushers them off to bed, you bid them goodnight, and you return to the sitting room, taking your seat and looking at your father.

"It's bringing me such great joy to have you home." He tells you, as your Mama brings him a second Manhattan, and sits at your side. "You've grown so much in these years. So far removed is the little girl who would lay on the floor reading her books for hours on end."

"I still read quite a bit, Papa. Just now I prefer to do it sitting up." You laugh.

"I'm certainly glad to hear that. Although I imagine you're not among a big reading crowd, out on that fisherman's island."

"They love stories as much as anyone." You shrug. "Their schools aren't near as good as ours though, which is why I'm glad to offer my services in helping to change that. And my friend Arthur is glad to have someone else to trade books with, and share our opinions on the ones we've both read."

"Arthur." Your father turns his name over in his mouth. "Is he a respectable young man?"

"Oh…Papa, no, he's not a boyfriend of any sort." You flush deeply, avoiding your father's gaze. "He's just a very dear friend. He worked on Brittany's fishing boat, before he returned from overseas without the use of his legs."

"A war hero then! He must be a fine man."

"One of the finest I know." You tell the truth, though you feel a bit uncomfortable saying it. "We get on very well, and he took over in the bar for Mr. Edja."

"Hmm." He nods. "Well that's wonderful to hear. And you're well there? You're alright in the room you're renting?"

"Oh." You swallow hard, finding it hard to lie about the false arrangement you have with Brittany. "Brittany just built the home, and she's my dear friend, so it's a wonderful arrangement. It's much closer to work than my apartment above the bar, and it's much nicer to have another person around. I was awful lonely before."

"I can only imagine. I lived only with your Uncle Tito for a short time, before I married your mother. You've surpassed me in living alone, and it impresses me wholly."

"To be honest, Papa, I don't think I will again. I'm much more comfortable living in Brittany's house, and taking meals with someone else." You feel your heart pound against your ribs as you say it. It's the truth, it's nothing but the truth, and still, it's difficult for you to express it without speaking to the love you share with Brittany Pierce. "It can be a bit lonely there, but knowing I'm not alone makes me feel less homesick."

"You know, _mija,_ if you want to come home, and you want to be a schoolteacher, I'm certain I can find you a job doing such."

"No thank you, Papa." You're careful not to shake your head too quickly, careful not to give away how desperate you are to never have to leave. "I've made a commitment to Mr. Woodhull, and I do like living on the beach much more than I expected."

"As long as you're happy, Santana. That's all your mother and I wish for you."

After talking to your father a bit longer, you retire to the bedroom. Mariana is sprawled out on the bed, and you smile at her as you change into your nightgown, hanging your clothing over the back of the chair. There's a chill in the room, and you quickly get beneath the covers, breathing the baby in as she quickly curls into you, mumbling your name in her sleep. You stroke her hair until she settles, and you close your eyes, glad you have the child you love so dearly close by, to keep you from missing Brittany so terribly.

The next morning, you take the girls to the bookstore with you, and the squeal with delight when you offer to buy each of them a new book. Your Mama has sent you so many since you've been gone, and you feel the least you could do is purchase little gifts for each of them. They'd been so excited when you'd given them the glass you and Brittany had collected, and it brings you such a deep joy to see them so happy. Your family isn't wealthy, not by any means, and though you still insist upon sending money home to them, you enjoy being able to give a little extra, you enjoy spending your money to make them happy.

While you're there, you gather new books for yourself. Brittany had so enjoyed your reading of _Little Women_ to her, than you choose a paperback copy of _Little Men,_ and you add it to your growing stack of novels for yourself. You purchase _Pippi Longstocking_ and _Stuart Little_ for your students, and the strange book, _Animal Farm_ for Arthur. When you're through, you realize you'd spend a bit more than you'd planned, but you feel calmer, knowing you won't have to ask Mama to send you books for quite some time. The bookshelves Brittany built you beneath the window bench will continue to fill, and you'll be happy knowing that so many stories are right within your reach.

After Papa finishes with his patients, he and Mama meet you in the park. He sits and reads his paper, while Mama sets up lunch, and you draw a hopscotch grid on the pathway for the girls. All in all, it's the loveliest of days with your family, and watching how wide your Mama smiles, you're more grateful than ever that your Papa is home safely. Watching how wide your Mama smiles, you hope that you'll always smile like that when you look at Brittany, you hope that you'll never cease to be happy with the woman who owns your heart.

Before you leave late Sunday morning, you make arrangements for your mother to send the little girls to you in three weeks. It had been a discussion with Brittany before you'd left for the city, and though selfishly, part of you had been wishing to spend the first weekend Brittany wouldn't have to work on Saturday doing something alone together, you can't help but feel more sweet on her knowing how seriously she'd kept her promise to your sisters. So you kiss them goodbye, knowing you'll see them soon. You take the leftovers your mother offers, and you hug her tightly, before embracing your grandmother.

Papa accompanies you to the train, and on the platform, you express again your gratitude to him for not being disappointed with your choice to remain on Fire Island. On your train ride, you begin to read your new books, and before you know it, you're pulling into Bay Shore station. On the platform, you can see Brittany, hands in her pockets and a grin on her face. Maintaining your excitement, you carry your things from the train, heavier than what you'd brought with you, and she hurried to your side, snatching up the bags from you.

"Ya got an awful lotta stuff here." She teases. "Did ya buy out the whole book store?"

"Hardly." You laugh, watching her eyes sparkle, and you lower your voice slightly. "I got one for the both of us too."

"I love it when ya read to me, ya know."

"I do know, and I think you'll particularly like this one."

"I'm real glad ya came back, sweetheart."

"Brittany." You flush at hearing her say that in public, even though it's so low that no one else can hear it. "I don't ever want you to worry that I won't come back to you."

It begins to rain on your ferry ride back to the island, and Brittany tells you that there's been talk of a nasty storm. Though she tries to put on a facade that she's not all that concerned about it, her worry is written on her face, and you furrow your brow hoping it's not as severe as the storm you faced last year. When you reach the island, Brittany stops to talk to a few people on the dock, and you listen carefully, gauging the level of activity to see how frightened you should be. Many of the windows are boarded up, and you sigh heavily, thinking about how close to the ocean you'll be in your new home.

Brittany walks quickly down the sand, carrying most of your things, and you match her speed, finally taking her hand when you're far enough away from the center of town. You long to kiss her, long to hold her close, but you're certain now that it will have to wait. There are things to be done, you know, things she'll show you how to do, and when you reach your house, you notice a stack of heavy boards stacked neatly on the deck, her hammer and a sack of nails beside them.

"I oughta have done 'em yesterday." She tells you, crease forming in her forehead. "Go on inside, it's gonna get real dark in there once I put 'em up, and you oughta take the candles out in case we lose the electric."

"Let me help you with it, Brittany. Let's put my things inside, and then we'll get it done much faster with two."

"I don't want ya gettin' hurt with it. The winds'll start to whip soon, it could get real dangerous."

"All the more reason I'd like to help you get it done more quickly. Please?"

"Alright." Brittany concedes. "I've been doing this with Pop 's long as I can remember, so it'll be nice to have an extra set of hands without 'im."

Once your things are inside the house, Brittany hands you an old yellow rain slicker and a pair of rubbers, and you slip off your shoes and slide your feet into the boots. You button up the jacket over your skirt and blouse, and she does the same over her trousers. She gives you the widest grin, and though this isn't quite how you'd imagined spending your Sunday evening together, you can't imagine being anywhere in the world where Brittany isn't looking at you the way she is just now.

Together, you go back outside, and though the rains have started to come down more heavily, you're protected by the hood of your jacket, and you use all your strength to hold the heavy boards up against the windows as Brittany hammers them into place. When you climb to the second floor, you're grateful that Brittany put a deck up, for you'd be so afraid to climb to the roof to cover the large window from your bedroom that overlooks the sea.

Once the boards are all up, and your muscles ache from strain, you go back inside, and you help Brittany push the heavy coat armoire in front of the door, insuring that winds won't push it open. She ensures you that the Alcott has been safely moved from the water to her father's house, but though it's meant to make you worry less, it only serves to heighten your concern about the severity of the hurricane that's to hit. You've only been through one, last year, tucked away in Brittany's father's house, but this year, you're on the water. This year, you have your own home to worry after. This year, you hope, more than last, that it will all be alright.

"It got ya really wet out there." Brittany brushes away the wet curls that frame your face, loosened from the pins you'd had your hair in. "And ya keep shiverin'."

"I'm alright." You force a small smile, though your shivering comes more from concern than cold. "I think I need to take a nice hot bath though, to get the chill out. I was wondering, perhaps, if you'd like to take one with me."

"I've never bathed with ya before." She grins. "I think I'd like that somethin' fierce."

Upstairs, as you disrobe, remaining only in your slip, and hanging your clothes to dry, you hear the wind howl, even through boarded windows. You're glad that the bathroom is in the center of the house, and once you're inside, with the hot water running from the taps, there's quiet. In case the electricity goes out, Brittany lights candles, and you watch her in the low light, soft glow illuminating her features in her undershirt and briefs. Once the tub fills, she undresses completely, leaving her things to hang over the sink, and when she slips into the hot water, you follow suit, settling between her legs in the white claw tub. It's a comforting feeling, being in her arms, and when she peppers kisses along your shoulder blades, you close your eyes, calming completely.

"I was awful lonely without ya the last two nights." She murmurs into your skin. "I'm real glad ya came back, though maybe it'd've been better for ya to be safe in those strong city buildings."

"I'm certain that you built us a stronger, safer home than any I've lived in before. But had I been in the city still, I'd be sick with worry about you out here alone."

"Likely I'd've brought Lord Tubbington, and stayed with Pop down at the Coast Guard. I'd've been restless, and've wanted a way to get in contact with ya."

"Everyone has prepared all they needed to?"

"Mr. Edja even came and put the boards up on the bar. He listened to me, after what he did to ya last summer."

"He can see how wise you are." You smile, and you play with the ends of her hair, long and blonde and damp from the rain.

"Just done these storms a time or two." She shrugs, kissing up your neck until she reaches your ear. "How were things with your Pop?"

"It really was lovely to be back for a visit with him. He offered to help me find a teaching position back in the city—" You feel Brittany bristle, and you take her hand, kissing the inside of her palm to soothe her. "But he understands that I'm perfectly well here, and that I've chosen to stay."

"And he was alright with ya doin' that?"

"He was. He's got his work cut out with his practice, and worrying about the little girls. I think he's glad to know I've grown up and take care of myself, and that I'm taken care of here as well. Mariana had told him all about you, so I think he's pleased to know I'm living here, rather than alone."

"I'm pleased ya live here rather than alone too, and I'm pleased that I get to love ya."

"I'm pleased that I get to love you as well, Brittany. And I feel so safe just like this, even knowing what brews out at sea."

"I promise I'll keep ya as safe as I can."

After you bathe, and you're sufficiently warmed, you dry each other with soft towels. Because there's no need for propriety with just the two of you in such a storm, you forgo putting on new clothing, and slip into your nightgown, covering yourself with a warm chenille robe. Brittany, who's always much warmer than you, wears just her nightshirt and socks, and you smile at her as she pads down the stairs looking for something to eat. The electric goes out as you sit to eat the food your mother sent back with you, and Brittany checks to make sure the stove gas is off, before she lights a candle between you, and you dine in the dim light.

You're more tired than you'd expected when you finish dinner, and you suspect that it's a combination of your travels and the work you did outside of the house. Brittany tells you that Mr. Woodhull has closed the school in the morning, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Though you love your job and your students, having missed out on the weekend with Brittany, you're grateful for a day you can spend with her, even if it means being shut up as a result of a storm.

After you extinguish the last of the candles, together you lay down in bed. Because you're in complete darkness with the windows covered, you can't see even the outline of her features. But because you've fallen asleep beside her for enough nights, you know a shock of blonde hair has fallen across her face, and certainly enough, when you bring your hand up to brush it, there it is. You feel her smile against your palm, and she covers the hand with her own, interlacing her fingers with yours.

"I wish I could see ya." She murmurs. "Two's too many nights without looking at your face."

"I'm right here, love." You smile, and you press your lips gently against hers.

"This is my favorite thing, ya know. More than anythin' else in the world, I just love layin' with ya before bed." Her thumb rubs over the ring you'd replaced on your finger, and she kisses the tips. "Your muscles achin'?"

"Just a little." You refuse to worry her, especially with how concerned she still is that your summer illness might reoccur. "I'm not quite as strong as you are."

"I've had years and years of haulin' and liftin'. I'd've done it myself if I'd known ya mighta been hurt."

"I'm not hurt, and it made me glad that I was able to help with it."

"I was awful fond of seein' ya in that slicker and rubbers ya know. Made me even more sweet on ya."

"Brittany." Your face warms, and by the way she chuckles, you know she can feel it.

"I'm never gonna get tired'a makin' ya blush. Even when I'm old and grey, and ya still look pretty as a picture."

"I'll still be awfully fond of you then too."

"Nothin' makes me happier than knowin' that."


	18. Anything Your Heart Desires Will Come To

Though you'd expected to enjoy it, you find schoolteaching much more pleasurable than you could have imagined. The children in the room are eager to learn, listening to the stories you read, carefully copying down letters. Some should have learned to read and write years ago, but though there are compulsory education laws, here, they're not wholly enforced. You notice it, when some of your children miss school more than you ever would have dreamed. You notice it, and you find yourself staying later and later, tutoring those who wish to make up for lost time.

It's a strange little island, sometimes, and coming upon your second fall, you notice it more than you do in summer. Your little corner isn't so full of summer people, especially where your house stands alone, but you feel the emptiness begin to swell, as October becomes November, as the air chills, and the winds howl. It's a lonely place, you think, if one were to be there alone, but you're not. You have Brittany, you have your love, and as you spread quilts over the beds, and prepare for the arrival of the three little girls you adore so wholly, you feel a certain sense of restfulness settle over you.

You'd spoken to your mother twice on the phone the week before they were set to arrive, and as your school day draws to a close on Friday, you feel a chill of excitement, thinking of how you look forward to seeing the faces of the girls, thinking of how you look forward to seeing just how much your beloved enjoys spending time with them as well. It's a beautiful thing to love someone, and to have them love you, but it is something so much greater to see how they love the ones you love.

Because Brittany has begun working at Brewster's for the cold months, she's promised to pick the children up at the train station. Your mother had fretted a bit, concerned for Concetta and Carlotta to be responsible for little Mariana all alone on the train, but you'd promised her that Brittany would be waiting. You'd promised her that she'd safely whisk them to the ferry in a borrowed car, and you'd be waiting for them right on the other side of the water.

And wait, you do. With your coat buttoned up to the highest button, and your warmest gloves on your hands, you stand on the dock, watching across the water. You think, perhaps, that you could go inside and converse with Arthur while you wait, but you choose instead to stay just where you are, wind chapping your cheeks, and hand holding your woolen hood over your head. You want to see them the moment they arrive. You want to witness their reactions to such a strange and beautiful place. You want to gather them right to your chest, and kiss their sweet little faces as soon as you possibly can.

The ferry docks in its slip, the usual uproarious noise accompanying it, and you crane your neck, searching. It's Brittany who you see first, blonde hair snuck loose from beneath her cap, her heavy woolen coat unbuttoned, and Mariana in her arms. She carries the small valise in her free hand, and she looks down at Carlotta and Concetta, holding tight to each other as the carefully step down to the dock. Brittany's eyes never leave them, her hand ready to drop the luggage and grab them if need be, and your heart swells with affection for her. She's safe. She's sure. She's steady. She's all you've ever wished to have.

"Santana! Santana!" Mariana calls, waving wildly from Brittany's arms. "Santana! Santana!"

"Hello, my loves!" You call backs and a grin spreads across your face. You hear Brittany remind the older girls not to run as she walks toward you, her strides long. "You've made it."

"Brittany drove us in a _car,_ Santana!" Carlotta exclaims, the first to wrap her arms around your waist. "A train, a car, and a great big ferry boat, all in one afternoon!"

"How exciting, Nina." You kiss her head, and take Concetta by the hand. "I can't possibly compete with such excitement."

"No, sissy, we're _most_ excited to see you, and Brittany too!" Concetta tells you.

"Me too! Me too! Me too!" Mariana chants, wiggling in Brittany's arms.

Seeing her supportive grip on your youngest sister, you're transported back to the conversation you'd had after the last time you'd seen her with your family. It makes your heart do such things to see her with the children, and though you don't ache for the babies you won't have, it reminds you just how beautiful a mother she'd be. She cocks her head to the side, noticing your countenance, but you simply smile in return, finding a hand to quickly squeeze hers, under the guise of patting your sweet Mariana.

"This doesn't look so much like an island." Carlotta notes. "Are the pirates hiding somewhere?"

"Oh, _bebé._ This isn't quite like Treasure Island. I can assure you, we have no pirates here, and no palm trees either."

"Monkeys?" Mariana asks.

"I see only one monkey." Brittany pulls Mariana's hood a bit tighter, and Mariana giggles. "But we have somethin' of a walk, and we oughta get ya safe and warm by dinner time."

When you get down to the beach, Mariana wants to be put down to run aside Carlotta and Concetta, and you and Brittany walk behind, watching them search for treasures to fill their pockets. You link your arm with hers, and gently rest your body against her, always so contented to simply be close to her. Once their pockets are as full as can be, and you've reached your house, you usher them up the stairs, and you rub cold noses and hands with gloves that have been removed, warming them up. While you cook dinner, Brittany lights a fire in the fireplace, and coming into the room, you see all four of them laying on the floor, staring into the flames as she tells them stories about her fishing excursions.

"Supper's ready." You smile, and you feel such a strange tightening of joy in your chest as you say it. "One, two, three, wash up."

"Santana always sounds like Mama." Concetta giggles, rolling onto her back.

"I'm certain someday you will too, little one." A laugh escapes you, picturing your mother, same hand on her hip, same spoon clasped in her hand. "Come on, up, up."

"We may've lost one." Brittany murmurs, pointing down to Mariana, sound asleep on the floor.

"Can you help the others to the sink?" You ask, kneeling over the baby. "She's a bit of a bear to wake up."

"Anything ya want." She hops up, herding Concetta and Carlotta into the kitchen to wash at the sink.

"Mariana." You kiss her forehead, and slip the spoon into the pocket of your apron so you can lift her up. "Wake up, little one, no sleeping at dinner time."

"No, S'tana. No."

"Yes, sweet baby, I've made us chicken and peas and potatoes. After dinner's through, you'll take a nice warm bath, and we'll tuck you into bed."

"You too?"

"I'll lay with you a bit." You promise her. "But Carlotta and Concetta are going to sleep with you through the night."

"Mmkay."

Mariana is still hardly awake when you get her to the table, but she props her little elbows up, and she fights the sleepiness, ferrying peas into her mouth with a spoon. She's so small, and you watch as Brittany keeps an attentive eye on her, picking up errant peas, and helping to cut her chicken. While she does that, Carlotta tells you all about her new friend at school, and Concetta drifts off into a dreamlike state about a book she's reading, a state that you recognize so well.

When dinner is through, you instruct the girls to dry the dishes for Brittany, while you bathe Mariana. At home, she often fights to stay awake with the big girls, but tonight, excitement weary, she goes without argument into the tub, and she lets you comb out her hair once she's in her nightgown and warm socks. She's too sleepy for you to bring her back downstairs to say goodnight, so you simply bring her into the second bedroom, and you help her with her prayers before laying her down on the side of the bed closest to the wall, stroking her head until she falls asleep. Once she's kissed and tucked beneath the covers, you return downstairs.

On the floor, Brittany has a board game spread out, and since you're sure you've never seen it in your home before, you ascertain that she's found someone to borrow it from. It's such a sweet Brittany thing to do, and you love her more for it, so much that you can't even express. Though they offer to resume the game for you, lifting small and brightly colored game pieces as they go, you wave them off, sitting back in a chair, and tuning the radio to _The Jack Smith Show._ The music is light, as feels appropriate for such a joyous evening, and when Brittany looks up at you, you give her a soft nod and a smile, thanking her for sharing such a night with you.

Once the third game is through, you lower the radio, and you gently inform the girls that it's time for bed. They say goodnight to Brittany, and you usher them up the stairs, helping them unpack their nightgowns and wash up for bed. When they've knelt for prayers, and settled beneath the covers, you kiss them goodnight, and you turn off the light. The three of them tucked into bed together in the home you love makes you smile, and when you leave the bedroom, you slip your ring from the chain on your neck back to your ring finger, and you pad down the stairs.

"Hi." You breathe, seeing Brittany sprawled back on the sofa, with her feet tucked beneath her. "They're all sound asleep."

"Ya love havin' them here, don't ya?"

"I do." Sitting down beside her, you take her hand, and you kiss the inside of her wrist. "Sometimes when I lived at home, it was a bit much, having the responsibility of helping Mama with them, but now that I'm gone, I miss them so wholly."

"That must've been awful hard on ya. How old were the big ones when your Pop got sent to the army?"

"He was sent at the start of 1943, Concetta and Carlotta weren't quite five. Mariana had begun to walk only a bit before. Mama began working shortly after, to make up the difference in his salary, I suppose. But the following spring, she caught an awful rheumatic fever, and it became difficult for her to continue." You sigh heavily, thinking of how difficult those times had been, your father away, your mother ill, and three little girls to care for, while your grandmother nursed your mother. You don't speak about such things often, keeping your family's privacy, but with Brittany, you feel like you can speak freely. "She'd wished for me to go to college, after getting my high school certificate, but I was insistent upon taking on the work for our family, so she would no longer have to."

"And that's how ya ended up here?"

"Not at first. I'd taken on odd jobs in the city, but when I wrote Papa, he'd been able to put me in contact with Mr. Edja."

"Were ya scared, comin' here all on your own?"

"More scared than I had ever been of a thing in my life." You breathe, resting your head on her shoulder. "Excepting when I'd gone to Chicago for Concetta, I had never spent a night away from home. But I couldn't show Mama, or she'd feel such greater concern than she already did about me coming here, so when she kissed me goodbye, I stepped on the train without a single tear."

"I bet it was real strange for ya, gettin' here."

"It was. I didn't know a soul, and my first night in the bar, I wasn't certain I'd be able to stay. I cried myself to sleep that first night, and for the week that followed. I was so awfully homesick."

"I think it's real brave of ya to have stayed. I'm not sure I'd've been able to do it. The only time _I've_ ever been away from this place is when ya took me to the city, and I had ya with me."

"You're not scared of anything though, Brittany. You're the bravest person I know."

"It's real sweet when ya say that, 'cuz ya might be the bravest person I know."

"Hmm." You smile, just breathing her in.

"It's real nice to have your sisters here, ya know. I really like watching ya with 'em. Ya just look so content with 'em."

"Mariana slept in my bed with me from the moment she stopped nursing, and Carlotta and Concetta scarcely remember a time when I wasn't helping to dress and bathe them."

"Santana?"

"Mmhm."

"I think that's real a beautiful thing. And I'm real glad your Mama and Pop let them visit us. Makes it feel like a real family 'round here."

"Brittany, even when it's just us two, we're a real family. I know that we'll never have little ones running around our home, but I won't lie and say that I don't enjoy having you very much to myself. Perhaps Michael or Arthur will have children someday, and they may let us borrow them for a time."

"I just want to make sure—"

"I promise you, Brittany, the answer I gave you months back won't ever change, just because I enjoy spending time with the little ones. I've done my share of mothering, now I quite like being a wife."

"I love when ya remind me of that and I love bein' a wife too." A grin spreads across her face, and you yawn, the day having caught up with you.

"It was providence that Mr. Edja opened the bar, just as I was looking for a place to work, and it was providence that my father thought to write him, rather than find a position closer to home."

"I can't imagine what it'd be like here now, without ya. I supposed I'd still be livin' with Pop, seems no sense, buildin' a whole house for myself."

"Did you always know, Brittany?" You ask her quietly. "That you might fall in love with…someone like me?"

"I was sweet on girls before ya, if that's what ya wanna know. Boys too. Kissed 'em both before, but I never saw stars 'til that first time I kissed ya under the stars."

"I've…" You swallow hard. "I've never kissed anyone but you. I suppose I'd never really wanted to kiss anyone until you. Even though you live on this small island, I think you're so much more worldly than I am."

"That's nonsense, ya know. I feel kinda special that I'm the first person ya wanted to kiss."

"And now I can't think of anyone else I'd ever want to spend my life with."

"Whadda ya think it'll be like here in ten, twenty years?"

"I don't think any of us can know for sure. The only think I know with certainty is that time won't change how strongly I feel for you." You kiss the corner of your mouth, and then you yawn again. "You're very serious tonight."

"Maybe I'm just awful tired. The shipyard wears me out more more than fishin' does."

"Perhaps we should get to bed then. I'm sure Mariana will be up with the sun, and if it's warm enough, I'd like you to show them how to clam tomorrow."

"You think they'd like that?"

"Mariana and Carlotta will, for certain. Concetta might be a bit harder to convince, but I think if she watches me do it with you, she'll be more likely to try it."

"How'll your Mama feel, sendin' 'em back and hearin' all about how we let 'em dig in the mud?"

"Mama won't mind so much." You laugh. "As long as they're happy."

"Are ya sleepin' in with 'em tonight, or in our bed?"

"They're alright on their own, and I'd certainly prefer to share the bed with you. There's no harm in that."

"Alright then, we oughta go on up, before we get so tired we've gotta carry each other."

You kiss Brittany for a bit, once you're up in your bedroom. It's something you'll never tire of, feeling her lips against yours, feeling the way her hands just can't seem to help but roam your body. Even when it's most innocent, her palms seem incapable of not finding a bit of your thigh where your nightgown rides up, her fingertips seem incapable of mapping the column of your neck, down to your clavicle. It's your favorite way to feel her touch you, even more so then the ways she does that makes you shake and tremble. You love to simply feel her affection for you, her adoration, and she shows it, in the simplest of ways.

Typically, when you fall asleep, she holds you from behind, her chin tucked into your shoulder. Tonight though, you sleep side by side, just your hands tangled beneath the warm quilt that covers you. It's simpler that way, you think. Though you're certain your sisters will sleep until after dawn, when both of you have long been up, getting breakfast ready, taking in the news from the paper that Brittany insists on fetching you from the small grocery, each morning she doesn't need to be at work, you'd prefer to be cautious. Before Brittany, with the exception of perhaps Olive and Verena in one of your novels, you hadn't been aware that such affection could exist between two women. You know that your marriage to Brittany is not one recognized by church or law, and not one you show in public out of concern for anyone telling you it's not quite right. So, to keep from confusing such little girls, or angering your mother and father, you think it better that you sleep almost like friends for the evening, only your entwined lovers hands keeping a grasp on what exists beneath the pretense.

The salt air and distance of your sisters' journey keeps them asleep far longer than you'd expected, and by the time they wake up, you've already read the newspaper aloud to Brittany, and you've begun to fry bacon in the pan, while Brittany stirs pancake batter beside you. They eat voraciously, and are eager to get back outside, eager to explore the places you've told them about on your visits, and in your phone calls and letters. You ensure that they're dressed warm enough for the cool fall day, and you pack a basket for your afternoon.

While Brittany was at the grocery store early on the morning, she arranged with David to borrow his dinghy for the day. The girls whoop—in an unladylike way your mother might be appalled by—with excitement that they'll get to ride on a boat, and you help them on, never for a moment concerned about them under Brittany's careful captainship. Mariana squeals the whole time, pressed into your side, while Carlotta and Concetta are riveted by everything Brittany does, never ceasing in their excited questioning.

When you get to the small beach on the bay, the very same one where Brittany had cooked up lunch for you not long after you met her, you share a knowing smile, and she lifts one of the big girls on each of her shoulders to help them to land, while you carry Mariana in your arms. Though it's colder than you'd like, once you spread out the blankets in the sand, you help your sisters remove their shoes and stockings, having done so yourself before you waded through the water upon disembarking from the boat. The water hasn't found its winter chill yet, and so long as you dry the girls carefully, you think there's no risk to them going in up to their knees.

So you tie the backs of their dresses with string, and you and Brittany hold their hands as you wade in the water, you with Carlotta and Concetta, her with Mariana. When Brittany finds her first clam beneath the mud, before she pulls it up, she has the girls feel it so they know what they're looking for. Mariana is too small, truly, to find any on her own, and before long, Brittany had her up on her shoulders, handing each find to the little girl to drop in the bag, while you help the older two, and smile at their excited shrieks. You've nearly filled the burlap bag, when you hear a painfully sharp, followed by a hiss from Brittany, and she stumbles, nearly dropping Mariana from her shoulders as she does.

"Britt-any! You slipped!" Mariana giggles, but Brittany grimaces.

"Time to get out of the water." She forces a tight smile to her face. You don't question her, you just usher Carlotta and Concetta out, stepping back in to offer Brittany your arm, when she lags behind.

It's not until her feet are on the shore, and you watch blood pool in the sand, that you realize what happened. It's always a risk, though an uncommon one, as Brittany knows where exactly to dig for clams, but you know that a jackknife clam was beneath her foot, and it sliced her something terrible. Quickly, you get Mariana off her shoulders, sending her up to the blankets, and instructing the girls to dry themselves and sit in the sunshine while Brittany sinks down into the sand. Crouching, you shield Brittany from their view, and you take her hands away from her foot where she blocks you from seeing it. You know she's capable of taking care of herself, that she's managed much worse injuries than the slice of a razor clam, but still, you can't help but fuss over her.

"'S alright, sweetheart." She murmurs low, pained. "Nothin' but a scrape."

"It's a bit more than a scrape, there's quite a lot of blood."

"Better me, than you or one of the little ones. Haven't been hit by a jackknife here in all the years I've been comin'." Brittany shakes her head, and winces when you cup your hands and pour saltwater over the wound to clean the sand away. "Davey's got a first aid bag on the boat, if ya don't mind grabbin' it."

You don't hesitate a moment to get to the dinghy. Though she won't show it, you can see the amount of pain she's in, and you grab the bag quickly, sloshing water all over your skirt and blouse as you make it back to her. When you cast a quick glance at the little girls, they're following your instructions, sitting with their legs spread out in front of them on the blanket, eating the apples from your basket. The clams lay forgotten in their bag on the sand, and when you turn your attention back to Brittany, she keeps splashing water over the bleeding wound, trying to stave it off.

Crouching back down, you take her hand, and you squeeze it tightly. She doesn't hesitate to squeeze back, but when she reaches for the bag, you won't let her take it. You're no medic, but you're certain you can properly clean and bandage her foot, well enough for her to walk on it. And to your surprise, she acquiesces, leaning back on her hands, and letting you douse the would with antiseptic, before wrapping it in gauze. You hope it stops the blood, you hope it stops the ache you know is there, and gently, you pat her knee. She looks at you with such _love_ in her eyes, and mouths a simple _thank ya,_ before you call for one of the girls to bring you her sock.

"Brittany, did you get very hurt?" Carlotta asks, holding the thick wool sock in her hand as she carefully approaches, Mariana scampering behind. From a distance, Concetta cranes her neck to see, but you know, like you at her age, blood makes her stomach turn.

"Nothin' to worry about!" Brittany grins wide. "Santana fixed me up real good, see. I'm just gonna put my sock on to keep all the sand outta there while I light us a nice fire and cook up these clams."

"Brittany—" You start, trying to tell her that perhaps you should just go home, that you can cook the clams on the stove, like you do often enough, but she shakes her head, and she stops you.

"I need some help gatherin' up sticks and driftwood, and I'll show ya gals how to make a real big fire. Can ya handle that for me?"

"I can, Britt-any! I can!" Mariana assures her, dancing around. "I can get so many!"

While the girls scurry around to collect what Brittany has asked, you help her down onto the blanket, and you give her a Schlitz from the basket. You promise her you'll share the beer with her once you fill the bucket with clean water and begin rinsing the mud from the clams, and she just grins and nods, enjoying her first sip. You know she doesn't like to be incapacitated in any way, you know she's consistently busy, and she would rather be a caretaker than the one being cared for, but you force her to sit. You clean the clams, and you let the girls gather the wood for the fire, and only when that's all together, do you let her dig the hole, and ignite the whole thing.

When the food is cooked, and the five of you have singed your tongues and fingers eating every last clam, you let the girls walk the beach in search of more treasures, while you sit back on the blanket with Brittany. True to your word, you share another Schlitz with her, and you take in the warmth of the sunshine on your face, on contrast to the cool air. She's quiet, and you know she's hurting more than she lets on, but she smiles at you, that smile that makes you feel, every day, like all is right with the world.

"They're havin' a lot of fun, huh?" She nods toward your sisters, and you let out a soft breath.

"They have the space to play. It's not so safe for them to run around on the streets at home. I know Mama worries, even with them walking to school, with all the cars about."

"I can't really imagine how it is, growin' up where ya can't roam free. Maybe Pop was a little less worried about me then he shoulda been, but I was always climbin' on boats, endin' up out at sea with some rowdy group'f fishermen. Willy watched out for me, best as he could, but I always wanted t'be on the water."

"That's sweet to think of." You lay your hand on top of hers, imagining her, a tiny blonde wisp of a thing in her rolled up trousers, ending up where no one imagined she could be.

"The men figured it was just best t'teach me fishin'. They all respect Pop, and knew he wasn't sure what he should do with a motherless girl, so they let me be like a boy. Was for the best anyway, I guess with Willy gone. If I couldn't'a pulled my weight when I was just on his crew, I never coulda taken over the Alcott when he got his papers. Woulda been a shame to see such a beauty of a boat gone from our family."

"You've been so successful doing what you've done. You command the respect that I think is often hard for most women too. You impress me every day."

"I'm just doin' what I love. I don't have the book learnin' you do, so I couldn't'a gotten a job teaching school or anythin'. But those little gals will, smart as a whip, all of 'em."

"You're the smartest person I know, Brittany." You tell her, quietly, and surely. "If any of them grew up to be just like you, and I think Mariana is already dreaming of such a thing, I'd be so proud of them. You've built a life for yourself, you've built us a _home_ with the work you've done. I was still studying penmanship while you were out alone at sea, our learning might be different, but yours is no less valid than mine or theirs. I feel such pride when I see you step off your boat, and I feel such pride knowing so well your bravery and strength and intelligence. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and certainly, that I ever _will._ "

"You're awful sweet on me, Santana Lopez."

"Oh, the sweetest there ever was."


	19. An Old Familiar Score, I Know It All Too

Though the cut on Brittany's foot wasn't severe at first, in the days that follow your sister's departure, she begins to develop an infection. As you spend so much time at work, you fail to notice it, until Brittany limps in one evening, utterly exhausted, you catch her pulling a small pharmacy bottle from her breast pocket. You're certain she didn't want you to know, you're certain she didn't want to alarm you, but in seeing it, you feel immediately guilty, and immediately _awful_ that she did such a thing while trying to make the time with your sisters enjoyable.

"Ain't nothin' bad, sweetheart." She tells you, catching the darkness that passes over your face while she unlaces her boots. "Just went to see Doc Davis when it started hurtin' up my leg, figured he'd be worried about the septicemia like he was when I got cut up on my head last spring."

"I think he was worried about a bit more than septicemia." You shudder in recollection, pullinga chair over to her, and insisting upon bending down to help her off with her shoes. She groans when you remove the one from her injured foot, and you shiver.

"I didn't want to tell ya how awful this was hurtin', since ya got so worried over me last time." She sighs, stiffening as you help her off with her sock, and find her foot wrapped in a clean bandage. "Ya nursed me real good, but I could see you much ya were concerned."

"Well, you were concussed pretty badly, Brittany. I had quite a reason to be worried."

Taking her hand to help her up again from the chair, you close your eyes. Though you wish not to, you can't help but recall the terrifying day she was injured. It had started ordinarily enough, but then, before you knew it you'd begin to fear that the one you loved dearest was slipping away from you.

 _  
As you had been getting ready to make your way downstairs and open the bar, you'd heard a commotion out on the dock through your open bedroom window. When you had looked down, you were fairly certain the man you'd seen bellowing was David Karofsky, and ball of lead had formed in your stomach as you'd quickly buckled your garters and raced down the stairs, petrified of what you would find._

" _She needs a doctor!" A woman had cried out, "There's'n awful lotta blood!"_

" _Santana!" David had cried out, catching you off-guard, as he'd always called you Miss Lopez. "You've got the closest bed! Lemme bring'r on up?"_

" _I…of course." You'd gone white as a sheet, looking down on the rough wood planks, where Brittany's unmoving body had been sprawled out on canvas tarp, blood matting sunbleached hair, and pain on her face. You'd thought you might faint, but a hand on your forearm had steadied you._

"' _S alright, miss." A young boy, barely a teenager, with his cap askew, had assured you. "She just got'rself knocked out. Happens all'a'time. Doc'll fix'r right up, give'r a couple stitches 'n make'r good as new. Nothin' t'worry your pretty little head 'bout."_

 _You'd ignored him. You didn't care if there had been nothing to worry about. You would worry. It had been Brittany, your Brittany , who'd picked you up on her back, and carried you laughing down the beach in the dead of night. It had been Brittany who'd scaled your building to check for the soundness of the roof. It had been Brittany, who'd sprawled out on the chaise in your apartment in the evenings, and crooked her finger for you to find her lap. It had been Brittany, who'd kissed you with more tenderness than any storybook hero. It had been Brittany, your Brittany, who was injured badly, and who you couldn't do anything to help._

 _Someone had ushered you up the back stairs, you're not sure who, but when you'd opened the door and turned back, you saw David, with Brittany in his arms, and your hands had trembled. All you could do was pull back the covers of the bed, to make a space for her, before you'd filled a pitcher with water, and waited for instructions. Michael had taken charge of the door, shutting out the voyeuristic onlookers, and David had nodded a sympathy to you, stepping into the kitchen to give you a moment of privacy with her before the doctor had arrived._

" _Brittany, Brittany." You'd sighed, dipping a cloth into the water, and using it to wipe the angry red blood that had covered her face. Your father is a doctor, you'd seen injuries before, you'd watched a man die in the parlor of your apartment, but that, it ached more than you've ever known. "It's time to wake up."_

 _She hadn't. Of course she hadn't. It wasn't a fairy tale, and even if it were, in that moment, you couldn't give her true love's kiss. You could sit beside her bed and hold her hand, wipe her skin, but, the rest, it'll have to wait until later. Much later._

 _When Doc had arrived, you'd stepped back. You'd sat in the high backed chair across the room, and watched as he'd pried her eyelids open to check them. You'd watched as he'd poured iodine on her and pressed the angry gash together, before he'd stitched it closed. You'd listened, as he'd asked David of what happened, and he'd told the story of a boom hitting her across the forehead. You'd breathed, and you'd ached. You'd breathed, and you'd waited._

 _It'd been hours, before anything changed. David and Michael had sat at your kitchen table playing cards, and you'd shaken your head when they offer you a hand in. Mason and Spencer had opened the bar downstairs, and with Mr. Edja back in the city, you'd make the call to trust them, to let them keep things under control while you'd helped the captain's daughter. You'd stared intently at her, and when her eyelids fluttered, you'd felt the air all whoosh from within you._

"' _S happenin'?" Her throat had been scratchy, but you'd rushed from her chair to her bedside. "Hurts like hell."_

" _Brittany." You'd whispered. "Brittany."_

" _S'ntana?"_

" _It's me, I'm here. I'm here. Try not to move too much, you've got a bunch of stitches, and you're concussed."_

" _What'd I do?"_

" _David will tell you everything later. But good Lord, Brittany Pierce, don't you ever do that again."_

 _"I'll try not'ta, but if I don't know what I did, I supposed I can't avoid it much."_

" _How." Tears had filled your eyes and rolled down your cheeks, landing in her hair. "Are you still making jokes after you just got so severely hurt?"_

" _I just wanted t' see you smile." She had poked you gently, smile spreading across her injured face. "I'm alright, sweetheart."_

" _Alright." You had forced a smile, and checking that the door was closed, pressed the softest kiss to her lips. "Just please, please never scare me that way again."_

" _I won't, I promise."_

"And ya made me promise I wouldn't scare ya again. So I wanted to see Doc before I told ya I wasn't feelin' so well."

"What did he say?" You ask, feeling awful that she felt she couldn't speak to you about her pain. You'd only said such a thing because you were in a state of shock and concern, and truthfully, you haven't thought she was in well enough a state to have taken it quite so literally.

"He says I've just got a slight infection, maybe got some mud in there when I was diggin'. But the penicillin'll clear it right up, and I've just gotta keep it a little cleaner."

"Let me wash it for you, Brittany."

"It's awful, and filled with pus. Even you, who never gets sickly about blood, might be feelin' lightheaded."

"I wish you had told me it was so bad, Brittany." You whisper. "When I'd said what I did last year, I meant it only as an expression of shock. Perhaps I could have helped you, before it got so terrible."

"'S alright now. Doc put some more iodine on it, but he did said I ought t'wash it real good in the evening, and then wrap it up real good again."

"Let me help you with it tonight then." You murmur, kissing her between her eyes. "I'd like it if you let me care for you."

"Ya always care for me, Santana. I smelled the beef stew the moment I walked in. Ya don't always have to cook me dinner, but I sure do love your cooking."

"You work long days at the shipyard, and I'm home long before you. I prefer to allow you to come home to a hot meal, when I know you're bones are cold."

"I hope ya know how much I love ya." She smiles at you, and your heart flutters.

"I do. You make me certain of it every day."

You help her limp to the table, and you serve up the stew over rice. She grins as you eat, and across the table, you find her hand, lacing your fingers with hers. These quiet moments at the dinner table are some of your favorite. The moments where you're both calm in each other's presence, after a day of hard work. The moments where you're so grateful to have her, that it's actually dizzying.

Though she tries to help you clean up from dinner, you force her to sit. You feel her eyes on you as you wash the dishes, but it never makes you uncomfortable. The radio plays low in the background, and you feel her press into your back, chin tucking into your neck. You giggle, when her hair tickles you, and she kisses you from your chin to the crown of your head, peppering you with her love, making your knees weak.

"You're supposed to be sitting." You murmur, hands covered in the suds of brown soap, and a shock of your dark hair fallen in your face.

"I had to kiss ya a little. Ya look real pretty tonight. I like this dress on ya."

"I stained it a bit today with the ink from my pen." You rub the stained bit on your abdomen between your fingers. "I ought to have washed it out as soon as I did it, but I'm afraid it was already too late."

"Ya still look real pretty in it. I don't mind the ink stains a bit. I've got plenty'f oil stains on my trousers anyhow."

"You do get awfully dirty at the shipyard." You laugh. "I'll put on a wash after dinner, then it should be through in time to hang our things before bed."

"Ya don't have to do my washing, if you're tired from the day. I can get to it all tomorrow."

"Let me take care of you, Brittany, please?"

"Alright." She concedes, pressing her lips to your temple, and letting them remain there. "But only if ya promise that after ya finish, we can sit and listen to the radio. I want to hold your head in my lap and tell ya your eyes are real pretty."

"You sweet talk me." You shake your head. "After I get the laundry started, and we get your foot cleaned up, I promise you, we can listen to the radio for as long as you'd like."

"It's Saturday, after all."

After you're through with the dishes, you change into a flannel nightgown, and you close the curtains on the windows. Once the house is shut up for the night, you go to the bathroom, and you run lukewarm water into the tub. A few moments later, Brittany comes in, wearing her own warm pajamas, and socks still on her feet. You can't imagine how painful it is for her to walk with such an infection in her foot, and you sigh a little, watching her struggle to remove her sock. When she sits on the edge of the tub, you go to her side, and gently, you unwrap her bandages, exposing the angry wound.

Though you'd been there when she was injured, the severity of it now surprises you, and you find yourself having to catch your breath. While she's correct in saying that you have no fear of blood, you do fear anything that ails her, and you sigh heavily as you help her put her foot into the water. She hisses at the sensation, and you squeeze her hand while she lets it soak a bit, leeching out anything that may have found its way inside. Once the skin is softened, you take a new cloth, and carefully dampen it, before lathering it with brown soap, and gently bringing it to wash her foot.

She doesn't groan while you clean out the cut, but you feel her muscles tense, you see her jaw tighten. At the sight, you're pained, but you don't let it stop your work. You don't let it keep you from washing her foot until the water runs clean, and you're comfortable putting ointment on it, and tenderly rewrapping it so she's comfortable enough to walk. When you're finished, you kiss her forehead, and she holds you there for a moment, arms loosely wrapped around your lower back.

"Thank ya for that, sweetheart. Ya mind if I build us a fire?"

"You don't have to do that, Brittany. You ought to rest."

"I'm alright, and I'd like t'do it. 'S awful windy out there, and a fire'd keep us nice and warm until bedtime. Ya think maybe ya'd like to read tonight, rather'n listen to the radio?"

"If you'd prefer it, I'm always happy to read. But you have to choose a new book, now that we've finished with the Auden poems."

"I'd like ya to pick it, I think. Any of your favorites."

"I've been meaning to read _Jane Eyre_ to you, though I'm still not certain you'll like it much."

"I'd like it if ya pick it, since I know it's one of your favorites."

"It is, and it has been for some time. We can read that, but if you choose for us to stop, we can."

"I like listenin' to your voice even more than the stories. Go on and get it from the bookshelf, I'll hobble on down and get us a fire goin'."

While you go to your bookshelf in the bedroom to take down your old red leather copy of _Jane Eyre,_ you listen to Brittany on the stairs, going down much more carefully than her typically rapid footsteps. You sigh a little again, wishing away her pains, and you braid your hair into a thick plait, figuring you ought to be completely ready for bed before you begin to read, in case she's too tired to sit awake afterward while you stand at the mirror. When you're through, you go downstairs, and the fire blazes in the beach stone fireplace, while Brittany reclines on the sofa, one foot up on the ottoman.

Reaching for the afghan on the arm of the sofa, you sit down, pulling your legs beneath you, and you share with her, making yourself comfortable at her side. Because her reading level is not the best, a product of so little schooling, you love to read to her. You love how thoroughly she enjoys hearing stories, and you love the way she gasps, laughs, and even occasionally cries at the ones you share with her. There's something about it which reminds you of her immense strength, and you always stop to kiss her after a particularly strong show of emotions, wanting her to know how much you love to see her express them.

"I think I'm gonna like it extra here with you, when the snow starts to fall."

"It would be so nice if we were to have snow for Christmas."

"Are ya gonna be here though? I know your Mama and Pop'll be expecting ya home."

"I'm going to be here. I made I promise last Christmas that I'd spend this year with you, and I don't intend to break that."

"I won't mind if ya break it. I know your Pop is home, and it'll be a real nice Christmas for your family."

"Brittany." You murmur, fingering your wedding ring. "I _want_ to spend Christmas with you. I want to spend every holiday with you. Perhaps, if you'd like, we can spend Thanksgiving in the city. I'd like to take you over to see the balloons for the big parade they have every year near Macy's. There's a great big Felix the Cat, and the little girls just _love_ it."

"Oh, I wouldn't wanna intrude on the stuff ya do with your family. Your Ma's been hospitable enough to me, I can't expect her to host me for the holiday."

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all. I don't want to force you away, especially if you'd rather spend it with your father, but I know my father would like to meet you, and Mama always has an extra place at the table."

"That feels awful big." A grin spreads across Brittany's face, and warmth blooms in your lower belly. "Big in the best kinda way. Pop'll be workin' Thanksgivin', and he's never done much for it. If your Ma and Pop will have me, then I'll be glad to come."

"When I call for Mama this week, I'll speak to her about it, but I'm sure the little girls will be clamoring for your visit, and I know Papa will be glad to meet you."

"Alright then. So Thanksgiving in the city it'll be."

You stay downstairs for awhile more, laying your head in her lap while you listen to the radio. When it's time to go up for bed, you help her hobble up the stairs. You don't like much to see how difficult it is for her, but you hope the medication she's been given will heal this quickly. Brittany gets into bed, and you crawl beneath the blankets beside her, kissing the top of her head, and then laying your head on her chest. She strokes your arms, your face, and your skin tingles beneath her touch.

"I'd like t'go get a new pair'a boots tomorrow. Mine are startin' to get worn right through, and I think a clean pair'll be better on this foot of mine. I was thinkin' if ya wanted, we could take the ferry over, and perhaps, if ya wanted to, there's a service in the morning. I know we don't've one like ya go to hear on the island, but I asked around at the shipyard, and there's a Catholic Church not too far from the department store with a service at eleven."

"Brittany." You inhale quickly, feeling as if you'd lost your breath at her mention of it. Guilt often gnaws at you for missing your Mass every week, except the ones in the city, and the idea that she'd found a place you could go…really means a lot to you. "You wouldn't mind that?"

"I've never been inside a church, but I'd go on in if it'd make ya happy."

"Thank you, Brittany." You kiss her long and slow, taking in her thoughtfulness, feeling your love for her swell. "I'd love that."

In the morning, Brittany's gone off, probably to get the newspaper, when you wake, and you're lazier than normal getting out of bed. You'd like to have breakfast started by the time she returns, but the week has tired you, and the cool weather keeps you from rushing out to where it's cold. So you lounge a bit, before you begin to ready yourself for the day, setting your hair, and putting on your best dress. Once your makeup is on your face, you go downstairs, and you make a quick breakfast of eggs and toast, sipping the strong coffee she'd left in the pot for you.

You're just setting the table when you hear the door open, and you hum Ella Fitzgerald to yourself with a smile on your face. When she walks into the kitchen, you gasp, having not seen her dressed in such a way since she'd taken you to Cherry Grove last summer, since the day she told you she loved you first. Her hair is pinned up, and she's dressed in a soft blue blouse, with a grey skirt and yellow cardigan. Her legs are clad in pantyhose, and her cheeks have the softest pink to them. You nearly drop the plate in your hand, surprised by her appearance.

"Ya like it?" Brittany grins, fidgeting with her pantyhose. "I asked Mrs. Karofsky t'make me look real nice for church. She found me some'f Mary Ellen's things, and did my hair up like a lady."

"You look beautiful, Brittany." You tell her reassuringly, coming to kiss her lips, but you can't let her think you like her best like this. You can't let her ever think that your favorite _her_ is when she's most natural. "I think you look beautiful always."

"Even in my stinky fishin' gear?"

"I'd say—" You pause, fixing the collar of her sweater. "Especially that way."

After breakfast, it takes Brittany a bit of time to hobble down the beach, but you make the nine-o'clock ferry. By the time you make it across the water, Brittany is flustered from the compliments she receives, and you long to take her in your arms, you long to compliment her for all the other days of your life. But you can't, you just walk quietly at her side as she manages to borrow a car, and she drives carefully down to the church, _St. Patrick,_ marked on the plaque in the front.

Brittany is awed by the grand old building, but you're awed that such a beautiful place was so close all this time, and you hadn't managed to step inside. After you meander up the long brick path, grass deadened on either side, you step through the heavy wooden doors, and you drop down to one knee before the Crucifix, marking yourself with the sign of the cross. Following your lead, Brittany genuflects clumsily, but you smile at her effort, before ushering her into a pew, and lowering the kneeler so you can drop to your knees and pray.

You're certain Brittany is surprised by the Latin, judging by the puzzlement on her face, and you wish you could explain to her that you know very little of the language yourself. But you can't, so you just offer her a small smile, and you focus on the priest before you, absorbing every word and every ritual in the beautiful old church. When the parishioners go up for the Eucharist, you remain in your seat, though you're saddened that you're unprepared to receive. Perhaps next time, you think, perhaps you'll find a way to make it to confession before Mass.

You slip outside the church when it's through, genuflecting once more, and thanking the Priest as he waits in the corridor. When you're outside, Brittany turns to look at you, and you smile, your heart full in a certain kind of way. It means a lot to you, that she brought you hear. It means a lot that you got to hear Mass, and you're so grateful to her for finding this for you.

"Thank you for that, Brittany." You murmur, squeezing her hand gently once you're seated in the car.

"We can come any time ya want, Santana. I didn't realize it was in Spanish, but that's alright, anything that makes ya happy."

"Oh…" You color a bit, disliking any time you have to correct her. "It's actually in Latin."

"Ya speak Latin too? I didn't know that!"

"I don't, actually." You laugh. "I understand just a bit of it, but Mass is always done in Latin."

"How come?" Brittany crosses her eyes, starting the car. "If ya all don't understand it?"

"It just is." You shrug. "Nearly everything that's done is a result of tradition."

"Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"Of course, anything." You tell her earnestly, appreciative that she's taken such an interest in something that's so wholly apart of who you are.

"How come ya didn't go up there when everyone else did? It was only us, mostly, and the babies that stayed seated."

"That was Communion. The children can't take it until they're eight or so. Carlotta and Concetta will receive their First Communion in the spring, after two years of catechism lessons. I haven't been to confession in some time, so it's not appropriate for me to take Communion just now."

"What have ya got to confess? I think you're awful saintly."

"A lot of things." You laugh, though you probably shouldn't, given the seriousness of your conversation. But Brittany's earnest face is too much for you to take sometimes, and you can't help yourself. "The next time I'm home, I ought to go see Father Tomas."

"it's a bit of a strange thing, your church, with all the Latin talkin' and the rules, but I think I may've liked it."

"Did you?" You finger the cross on your neck, a gift from your godfather on your own First Communion. "That makes me really glad to hear."

"I know it's important to ya, and I like all things that're important to ya."

"You're very sweet." You smile, and you lean into her, just a little as she drives toward the department store. "It meant a lot to me that you brought me here today."

"I think there might be one nearer by on the island, but no one I know goes to church there, so I had no one to ask."

"I've been meaning to, truly, but I have to confess that I was reluctant to give up my Sundays with you, if you weren't keen upon going."

"I think I'd go again. 'Specially if it makes ya this happy."

"Perhaps then I'll talk to Mr. Woodhull, see if he's heard of one there. I've only seen the Union Church, and I'm not certain I'd know what to do in a Protestant church."

"I think my Mama may've gone there, but Pop doesn't talk about it much. They may've even been married in it."

"If you'd like to go there, I'd learn how to do things in their way."

"Ain't too important to me, I think there's God everywhere, that's what Mrs. Karofsky says, at least. I'd like to see ya have your kind'f church, since you seem to know about it."

"Alright." You murmur, full of love and gratitude. It's almost too much, so you feel the urge to change the subject. "And if you'd let me, I'd really like you to let me buy your boots today."

"I've got money, ya don't have to spend yours on me."

"I have money of my own as well. Since you're always buying me little gifts and things, and you never want for much, I'd really like if you'd let me buy you them…as a gift."

"Alright." She blushes from her ears down, shifting in her skirt in the driver's seat and tugging at her sweater. "I don't know how ya dress like this every day, I'm already awful itchy, and the day's just beginnin'."

"It's been many years of it, but I'm sure Mariana would agree with you about how itchy it is. She's constantly fidgeting in her stockings, it drives Mama mad."

"Does it drive ya mad that I'm fidgeting too?"

"Not in the slightest. I like you an awful lot in your trousers and shirts, and I don't like to think you uncomfortable on my account."

"I just wanted to look real nice for your church day."

"I think you look so very nice every day, Brittany. I'd like it if you never felt as if you had to change to make me happy, because you make me happy as you are."

"Shucks, you're really makin' me blush somethin' awful this morning."

"I'm just telling you the truth. I love you as you are, forever and always."


	20. Think of What You've Got the Whole Day

Luckily, it doesn't take too long for Brittany's foot to heal after she starts the penicillin, and you breathe a much needed sigh of relief when she stops hobbling, and stops grimacing in pain. She's gone until late most days, with the shipyard work keeping her busy, but each night, you insist upon having a hot dinner ready for her when she gets in, despite her protestations that you've worked all day as well. It brings you joy to care for her, and in letting her come home to a good meal, you feel as if you're doing just that.

One Monday evening, Brittany tells you the cold weather card games are set to begin. Last winter, you'd been working at the bar when she played cards, and you hadn't gotten to witness it, but this year, she asks if you'd mind if the first card night was in your home. You don't play cards, certainly, you believe your mother would probably have a greater fit to hear such a thing than over anything else, and you don't drink much, but knowing how much those card nights mean to Brittany, you're quick to oblige. You even go so far as to have Brittany invite the boys over for dinner beforehand, figuring if you're to cook for them, it would feel a little less inappropriate than simply drinking and gambling around the card table Brittany will take out from the front closet.

On Saturday, you set to work on the spaghetti and meatballs Brittany requested for dinner. She flies about, cleaning the house, sweeping the sand from the wooden stairs and the deck, and you go to the kitchen. You've never cooked spaghetti and meatballs before, as it isn't in your mother's repertoire, but you read the directions carefully, setting chopped tomatoes to simmer with garlic, and rolling out balls of meat, cheese and herbs. The house smells wonderful, and you're feeling proud of yourself, when Brittany comes in and wraps her arms around you at the stove, nuzzling your neck and dancing to unheard music. Her goofiness makes you smile, and you turn to her, letting her head you in her own variation of a waltz.

"You're in an awfully good mood today." You murmur, kissing her chin.

"I'm just real excited for tonight. 'Specially for that tomato sauce ya spent the day on. The boys're gonna be awful jealous that I've got the best gal there is."

"Brittany." You laugh, letting her spin you around. "I'm just me."

"Don't I know it. And I'm real glad ya are. Are ya really sure ya don't mind everyone playin' poker here tonight? I know ya don't like cards…"

"I'm alright with you playing, I just would rather not play myself."

"Do ya mind bein' my good luck charm?"

"No." You flush, leaning into her embrace. "I wouldn't mind that at all."

You kiss her for a bit, before you wash your hands and set the table for six. You've never had your table filled in this house before, and you feel a small thrill at knowing you'll have a houseful of company. Once Brittany has the card table and bridge chairs set up in the living room, she lights a fire in the fireplace, and she comes back to help you, carefully folding the pretty new napkins you'd bought for company and setting down silverware at each place. When she's through, she carefully lines up whiskey glasses on the bar, and you see her beam with such pride, knowing she'll get to show off your beautiful home to all of her friends.

At five-thirty, there's a knock on the door, and you go to answer it while Brittany finishes getting dressed in the bedroom. You're in a new purple print dress and your hair is pinned up, and as you open the door, you see David and a young man with bright blue eyes. You think, possibly, you remember meeting him last summer in Cherry Grove, but alcohol clouds much of your memory from that day, and you find yourself slightly embarrassed when you reach out your hand to introduce yourself.

"I'm Santana." You murmur softly, beckoning the men inside. "Brittany's still dressing, but please, do come inside."

"I'm Kurt, David's friend of several years. It's such a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He tells you, with an accent more familiar to your ears than the one the people of the island have. "Thank you for having us to dinner tonight. I don't play cards, typically, but I simply couldn't resist when David invited me to a dinner party."

"That's alright, I don't play cards either. But perhaps you'd be interested in conversing with me. You don't sound as if you're from here?"

"Oh, mercy, no." Kurt steps inside with David, who takes your hand gently and squeezes it. "My stepbrother died in the war, and after my father went overseas to _prove something,_ as my stepmother says, she moved us out here from the city to be with her family. Now my father is home, but he was wounded, so Manhattan is a bit much for him. I always assumed I would move back, but…circumstances have kept me here."

"I understand completely." You look between the two of them, nodding in silent solidarity. "I spent my life on Elizabeth Street, but now I can't imagine living anywhere but this beautiful place."

"It certainly is a beautiful home. Brittany built it, correct?"

"Couldn't'a done with without Davey and Mikey and Art." Brittany appears beside you at that door, heartily shaking Kurt's hand, and pulling David in for a hug, as she does. "C'mon in, lemme take your coats and get ya settled. Wait 'til ya see the supper Santana made, it'll have ya droolin' the moment ya walk into the kitchen."

"Brittany." You bite back your smile, but she looks at you adoringly.

"What? I gotta brag about my best gal." She boasts, and though you momentarily feel strange, hearing her say such things in front of others, you recognize that Kurt and David are in the same sort of relationship, and your stiffness relaxes. "She made enough meatballs to feed the whole American army!"

"I've seen you eat." You rib, gently squeezing her side. "I simply assumed if your friends all ate like you, we'd certainly need a lot."

"Davey'll eat me under the table. But I know for certain I'll _drink_ him under it."

"Easier for me to take your money, Pierce." He chides, taming off his coat, and holding out his hand for Kurt's. "Go on and drink, and I'll make ya see."

"Not with my good luck charm nearby. I'm tellin' ya Davey, I've never been as lucky as since the pretty bartender showed up at Casino."

"You flatter me too much, love. You'll have me get a big head." You murmur, a bit shy when she speaks her affections. "Please make yourselves at home. I ought to go into the kitchen and set the water to boil for the spaghetti."

"I'll help ya. Davey, start countin' out the chips, I didn't get to it today."

You walk on soft feet to the kitchen, and Brittany follows close behind. She's so attentive to you that sometimes it makes you want to cry in relief. It's the sort of thing you couldn't have imagined finding, but yet, with her, it comes so naturally. You think of how you may have felt, cooking dinner for a husband and his friends, and you know you would never have felt as if you belonged among them. But falling in love with a woman, even one who dresses in trousers and caps, even one work works among rowdy men, you never feel as if you're outcast. You never feel as if you're expected to serve. She's a helpmate, and even when her friends are gathering, she's still certain to come in the kitchen with you, even if just to insist upon lifting the heavy pot. You could do it yourself, of course, but it's her offering that means the world to you.

"I hope it's alright I called ya my best girl. Davey calls Kurt his best fella sometimes, and I like to say, when I can, how much I love ya."

"It's perfectly alright, Brittany." You smile, turning on the sink to fill the pot. "I think it's nice that I can wear my ring among company, and feel as if we're perfectly ordinary."

"I like t'think we're more extraordinary than ordinary." A grin spreads across her face, and you give her a quick kiss on the lips before she carries the pot to the stove. "But I know what ya mean. The boys're all happy I got myself such a perfect gal, and they know to keep it between us. Davey 'specially."

"Kurt is…"

"Been his love for near two years. That's how I started goin' over to Cherry Grove, when Davey talked around wantin' to meet someone like him. I was there when they met, and I figured out I might like to meet a gal too. Turns out there wasn't any there for me, but I got real lucky even closer to home. So many of 'em there are city gals who go on back after the summer. My gal stayed."

"Sometimes I nearly forget that I almost didn't. It was quite the struggle for me, feeling such a great love from you, but also being uncertain how to allow myself to feel it."

"Well I sure am glad ya did. I'd've been real lost if ya would've left."

"Don't think of it. I survived that first brutally cold winter here, and I did it not knowing if you'd be in bed with me every night. Now, I don't have to worry over that. This is my home now. _You're_ my home now."

"Shucks." Brittany flushes. "Ya always have such a pretty way of sayin' things."

"I'm just plainly speaking the truth. But go on back out to your friends, let me finish up in here, alright?"

"Are ya sure? Davey'll be fine out there with Kurt on his own."

"I'm certain. Michael and Arthur will be here soon, and you should entertain them. I'll come back out when dinner is ready."

"Ya really are too good to me, Santana. And I love ya a lot for it."

She gives you a kiss on your lips, and you go back to the stove, stirring the sauce, and waiting for the water to boil. You'd like for her friends to have a nice night here. You'd like for your home to be welcoming to friends, and you're sincerely hoping that the dinner you've put on will be enjoyable. The sauce tastes good enough, you think, and you're certain you can make spaghetti without spoiling it, so you're feeling good about yourself as you get the pasta cooking, and begin transferring the meatballs into one large bowl. You get to the entryway to the dining room, and Brittany is quick to your side, taking the heavy bowl from your hands, and making your heart flutter. She simply can't relax if she knows you may need help, and you give her a soft smile, before turning back to the kitchen to strain the water from the pasta.

Michael and Arthur arrive just as Brittany insists upon dumping the pasta pot for you, and you shoo her out of the kitchen again, as you stir in the sauce, and carry the bowl to the table. There's a great amount of noise, and the feeling reminds you of your own home as they crowd the table, eager to eat, eager to praise the smell, and begin to dig into their meals.

"I'll say, Santana!" Michael shovels meat into his mouth, nearly forgetting his manners. "Ya sure are some cook! We're all mighty lucky to have been invited over tonight!"

"It's nothing at all, Michael. I'd rather have you eat around our table before playing cards. It comforts me to know you've had a hearty meal first."

"It really is wonderful, Santana. You're certainly an outstanding cook." Kurt remarks, looking down at his meatball.

"This was just a recipe I found in _Ladies Home Journal._ But I've cooked for quite a long time. Even before my mother went to work, she had her hands full with my three little sisters, so I tried to be the most help I could."

"They must be missin' ya something fierce then!" Michael frowns, and beneath the table, Santana takes Brittany's hand. "And must've been hard to send ya off."

"We all did what we had to do in the time of war. My family made far lesser sacrifices than so many, even in this very room."

"Sure do miss him." Arthur tilts his head as if in prayer, and Santana remembers that Brittany's friends knew her brother as if he were their own. "He'd've liked to have seen all this."

"Brittany gettin' a fine house, and a sweet gal, for sure." David nods. "He'd've loved Miss Lopez, that's for certain."

"David, you can call me Santana." You murmur, though you don't want to interrupt their reminiscence.

"You know he'd've been buildin' a house for him and Mary right next door. I'd've had to push him out of the way to give me some space, and ya all wouldn't've known which of us to help first." Brittany chuckles, looking off in such a way that you know she'd have longed to be in competition with him while building their homes. "Probably'd've had to split off with him and bought my own boat too. Ya all know we wouldn't have lasted much longer together on the Alcott."

"Ya always _were_ in competition with him." Michael grins. "He sure did love havin' a sister he could take along with him though."

"I wanted to be just like him." Brittany sighs heavily, and you squeeze her hand again, telling her you're right there. "I think he'd be proud of us all though, keepin' up his legacy."

"The Alcott was his pride and joy." Arthur wipes at his eyes, and you notice how misty they've all gotten. "I sure do miss bein' out on it, but all of ya have kept it up just as he'd've wanted."

"I'm gonna get the whiskey." Brittany gets up, and goes to the cabinet in the corner of the room, taking out a half-empty bottle. "We oughta have a toast to him, since we're all together."

They all turn sober as Brittany takes the highball glasses from the cabinet, and you help her by passing them around the table. She pours each glass, and checks with you for a small nod, before she pours a little whiskey into yours, and you all raise your glasses in toast to the young man you never had the opportunity to meet. The whiskey burns a bit as it goes down your throat, but you manage to swallow, and keep it down. After a moment of silence, and Brittany's glance toward the sitting room where you keep his photo, they turn boisterous again, and you smile, watching your beloved interact with her friends. It's nice to see her be so jovial in their presence, rather than intent on her work, and you sit back, enjoying it.

As they're a helpful lot, they all insist upon clearing their plates when they're through, and Brittany refuses as you insist that she go set up for cards while you do the dishes. Instead, she washes while you dry, and then she takes out the glass containers to put the rest of the food away for Saturday leftovers. Once the kitchen is cleaned though, you follow her back inside, standing off as she begins to deal cards. You may have drunk whiskey, but you certainly won't gamble, and she doesn't push you, instead, smiling when Kurt stands as well, uncertain about playing cards with the lot of them.

"Would you mind much giving me a tour of your home?" Kurt asks tentatively. "I enjoy seeing things like that quite a lot."

"Of course." You nod, watching Brittany's hand of cards, and stepping back. "You've seen most of down here, but I'll show you to the upstairs, and the beautiful view that overlooks the ocean. The moon is big tonight, so you ought to be able to see the reflection on the water. It's one of my favorite sights."

"Sure is pretty, we see it over the bay at Carole's sister's, so I'm certain that over the ocean is a prettier sight."

Though your house isn't all that big, you take time letting Kurt see the rooms. It's a nice distraction from the gambling that makes you nervous, and he's pleasant to talk to, having come from similar roots as he. He tells you more about his family, about the pain of losing his stepbrother Finn, and the fear that he'd lose his father as well. When you're back in the sitting room, and he pores over the few photos you have of your family, he looks to you, and gives a small, questioning smile.

"Do you find it difficult sometimes, to keep such a big thing inside of you?" He asks.

"Brittany, you mean?" You whisper in response, and he nods. "They've met her, except my father, as he was still in Japan when she came with me to the city. They may not know all she is to me, but perhaps the little girls understand that I love her as one loves their most intimate partner. It may not be commonplace, but it's a real love I feel."

"I feel the same for David. My father expects me to marry one of Carole's nieces someday, and perhaps I will, as it's probably right to do."

"I don't plan to marry." You shake your head. "Brittany has given me her ring, and I see her as my true wife."

"It may well be easier for you than it is for me. People have grown accustomed to women living together as sisters. You know James Joyce, I'm sure."

"I do." You nod, recalling Olive and Verena for the second time in just a few weeks. "And I suppose so. Though I'm certain my parents think I'll marry someday, as I've always had my head in storybooks, they'd expect I'd look for such a romantic ending. They just don't know I've got it already."

"I've just taken a job at the grocery, and my father keeps talking about how good it'll be when I raise a family. I haven't had the heart to tell David."

"I'm sorry for that. Perhaps though, you could convince him you'd like to live as a bachelor. Seems more common in these parts than it does at home, at least."

"Possibly." He tells you sadly, and you can almost feel the ache in his heart as he says the word. You can't imagine how it feels, you can't imagine ever living with anyone besides your Brittany, and had it been less improper, you would hug him right there. "It'll all work out, I suppose."

"Maybe it comes from my books, but I do believe that love finds a way, even in impossible circumstances."

"You seem to be proof of it, at least. I know you don't know me well, but this house is an odd sort of comfort to me."

"You're welcome here whenever you like. I enjoy your company, and while I know Brittany enjoys David's, you don't have to feel as if you can't come alone. I've yet to make many friends here, and I think I'd like it if we could be."

"I think I'd like that too, Santana."

You return to where Brittany and the boys at their cards, and you pull up a chair to watch, not daring to speak and interrupt them as they play so competitively. When the game is through, Brittany has won eight dollars, and she grins from ear to ear, standing to whisper in your ear that she wants to buy you something _real pretty_ for being such a good luck charm to her. She a little drunk, as the two of you show the boys out, but she's happy, and you're happy that she's had such a lovely time.

Closing all the lights, you go up to the bedroom, and you can't help but pull her close to you right away, to kiss her with such passion, in remembrance of your conversation with Kurt. You're lucky, so lucky to have her, and you wish with all your heart for her to know the depth of how much you feel that. She kisses you hard in return, and her hands wander to your blouse, helping you to unbutton it. It's not meant to be sexual, you don't think, but it's so intimate, being undressed by her, that you watch every motion of her hands, watch her remove your clothes, and help you into your nightgown, before you do the same for her.

When you lay down in bed, you kiss for a long while, and your hand goes beneath her gown, cupping between her legs, and rubbing there. Her knees drop apart, and you continue your ministrations, watching her face contort in the low candle light. She kisses you breathless as her thighs tremble, and you keep going, spurred by such a longing to make her feel good. When her muscles have tensed, and she cries out softly, you drop your head to her chest, and you listen to the heavy _thump, thump, thump_ of her heart. Though she tries to move to pleasure you, you urge her to stay, content with such a feeling, content to simply love her, and fall asleep in her arms.

"Are ya alright tonight? Ya looked awful troubled after ya came back in from showin' Kurt around the house"

"I'm alright, Kurt just got me worrying. I never think much of how unaccepted by the world this thing we have is. Especially tonight, when your friends all called me your girl, and I was comfortable showing how I was. But when Kurt started telling me how he'll probably marry, it left me with a deep kind of sadness."

"Has he told Davey? I know he's got no intent on marryin' anyone, and that'd get him real good."

"He hasn't." You shake your head, knowing what you say to Brittany is told in total confidence. "I suppose he will, when the time comes."

"It'll break his heart, ya know. He loves Kurt somethin' fierce, maybe close to as much as I love _you,_ and I can't imagine if ya went off and told me ya were goin' to marry someone else."

"I won't." You whisper. "Not ever. In my heart, you're my only love, and my only wife. There's nothing in the world that could tear me from the home we share, unless you told me you didn't love me any longer."

"I'd never tell ya that, because I'll never stop feelin' it. I'll never marry anyone else neither, I gave ya that ring, and I mean everything it'd mean if the preacher blessed it." She tells you fiercely, and you hear how much harder her heart pounds in her chest.

"I know. I feel it right here."

"I wish he'd be easy on Davey, ain't no use in makin' him heartsick if he's gonna marry a gal and pretend he doesn't love another man."

"I think his father expects it, and he doesn't know how to go against that. I'm far from my father, and he's proud I've become a schoolteacher. I know I'd choose you no matter what he told me, but I can't quite imagine how painful it would be if someone told me not to."

"My Pop's real close by, and I'm sure he thought I'd at least be seein' a fella by now. It's like that old letter ya read to me, _the heart wants what it wants, or else it don't care._ My heart wants ya, and nothin'll keep me from it."

"I'm sorry to make you angry." You murmur, trying to soothe her with your soft words.

"I'm not angry with ya, I'm just a bit raw hearin' such things, and thinkin' of my brother all night. He was real brave, he probably'd've thrashed Kurt for that."

"I know how deeply you don't want to see David hurt, but I worry for how it will hurt Kurt as well. I think rather than be angry, we ought to offer him a way to see that it's alright to go against his father's wishes. He enjoyed seeing our home so much, perhaps if he sees us together more, he'll feel a bit braver."

"I'll do what ya wish, but I'll find it hard to think kindly of him if he's gonna hurt Davey."

"Brittany." You kiss her lips, rubbing your hand over her heart. "I understand, and I know it makes you fear for us as well, but I've got nowhere to be but here, no matter who or what comes along."

"I know I've got nothin' to fear, I just don't like hearin' about it is all. Reminds me that the world's not the same outside the house, that I've gotta go on be careful who I tell how much I love ya to. I forgot about it for a little while tonight, while I got to call ya my gal and kiss ya in the kitchen while everyone was in the house. I wish I could give ya more, and love ya out in the open. We shouldn't have to hide it, I should be able to go on and tell everyone 'bout my pretty wife, and ya shouldn't have to take your ring off every time ya leave the house."

"I—I hadn't realized how much it bothered you." You murmur, tracing her ribs with your finger.

"It don't bother me much, except when I think about how the world shouldn't be tellin' people who they ought to marry. I'm married to ya right in my heart, and I'm not lettin' a soul tell me it's not real."

"It's the realest thing there is to feel." You tell her, sliding your hand down to intertwine your fingers, letting the warm metal of your ring brush against her palm. "We're not the same as anyone else, we're special, you and I. Like storybook romance. The kind of a love I truly never believed I'd experience, because I never felt about boys the way I supposed I should. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to stand before everyone I love in a white dress, and promise my love for you in front of the minister, but then I look in your eyes, and I remember I promised it before you, and before God."

"Ya think God looks kindly on our love?"

"I think of the book of Ecclesiastes sometimes. _Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?_ Those words always remind me of you, Brittany, and I believe that God has _given_ me my great love and my partner in you."

"Those are some beautiful words. I'd like to keep ya warm tonight, since it's real cold in here."

"You always do, my love. Always."


	21. Cause No Matter How Far Away You Roam

You make arrangements with your mother to come home with Brittany for Thanksgiving. It makes you feel so strange, knowing she'll spend this holiday with you, but strange in the best way. Last year, you'd been so lonesome for her, even when surrounded by your family, but this year…this year you'll be able to hold Mariana in your arms while she sleeps, and look across the room, seeing Brittany tucked into the bed in your family's apartment. This year, you'll take her to see the balloons, you'll have her sitting near as you help your mother cook the meal, you'll have her at the fireside while you wash the dishes. She'll be close, and you'll feel content.

Brittany takes the day before Thanksgiving off. You insist that she doesn't have to, that you can take the evening train into the city when she's through, but she's adamant about it. So, when you wake up that Wednesday morning, you gather the remaining things you need to pack, and you dress warmly, knowing the winds will whip through the city streets, much in the same way they whip off the big ocean before your home. Brittany dresses too, wearing long-johns beneath her trousers, and you smile at her, watching her set her cap atop her head. You're glad she hasn't chosen to wear a dress, you're glad she's _your_ Brittany, and when you hug her, you breathe in the scent of the soap you wash your clothes in, feeling very much at home in her embrace.

The train is fuller than it typically is, and you sit close to Brittany, valises beneath the seat. She subtly plays with the folds of your dress, and you sit contently, adoring the way she fidgets so much when she knows she ought to keep still. When you arrive in the city, your father is waiting for you again, and you watch his look of surprise when he sees Brittany step off the train beside you. You assume your mother and the little girls have spoken fondly of how she appears, and you assume your grandmother had something less kind to say, but it still doesn't shock you that he looks surprised, for hearing and seeing are not quiet the same.

"Santana." He murmurs, his hand resting on his cane. "Welcome home."

"Hi, Papa." You hug him tightly, feeling much like you did when you saw him last. "This is Brittany."

"Brittany." He extends his hand, and he shakes it firmly, making her stiffen up her spine and forget the ways she often slumps.

"Dr. Lopez." She nods, eyes more nervous than you've ever seen. "Thank ya for your service. It's so nice to finally meet ya."

"My daughters all speak so fondly of you, so the pleasure is mine."

"They did have a rompin' time when they came out to visit. It was swell to have 'em."

"School was out of session today, so I nearly had a gaggle of them with me. But their mother preferred they do quiet studies this afternoon, as they won't have much time for it this weekend."

"I'm lookin' forward to seein' em."

"So am I." You smile, feeling the pang in your chest that you get when you consider how much they will have grown in just a few short weeks. "And Mama and _Abuelita_ as well."

"Then we ought to move quickly. Come now, we'll find a cab outside."

Your father sits in the front of the cab, and Brittany insists upon loading your things into the trunk while you settle in the back. She finds her place beside her, and you give her a small nod, letting her know that you can tell by your father's inflections that he's as fond of her as the rest of your family. It makes you breathe more easily, it lets you know that he won't challenge your decision to stay, particularly if he thinks that you'll be safe in Brittany's presence.

The girls are on the stoop playing jacks when you arrive in front of the house. Mariana's jacket is off, and you shake your head a bit when you notice it. She always complains she's warm, until night falls, and she curls into bed with another warm body. When they notice the cab, Carlotta drops the ball, and it rolls down the steps haphazardly. They run to you, and as soon as you step out, you gather them up into your arms, crying tears of joy as you hold them close.

"Mama said we could wait outside for you!" Mariana cries out. "We knew you was comin'!"

" _Were,_ love." You correct gently. "And we're so happy to see you all."

"Hi, Brittany!" Concetta beams, sidling up to her. "Tonight you get to sleep in _my_ bed, and I'm going to sleep with Carlotta."

"Thank ya for that!" Brittany grins, tipping her cap. "I'll make sure to return it to ya in tip-top shape when I'm done with it."

"Britt-any, that's funny." Mariana giggles, though she stays in your arms.

"You, Miss, ought to have your jacket on." You tell her, bending to lift it from the step, and drape it over her back.

"We all ought to go inside." Your father's voice booms. "We don't need any sick little girls, or any sick _big_ girls for Thanksgiving."

"Mama got the _biggest_ turkey, Santana!" Carlotta beams. "I helped carry it!"

"Did you, Nina?" You stroke the top of her head. "I see you're helping out, just as I've asked of you."

"I'm the tallest girl now. Even though Concetta is oldest. I can carry the biggest bundles."

"I know you both carry your burdens well. Come on, let us listen to Papa and go on inside. Once we're warmed up, we'll hear all the stories you have to tell us."

When you go upstairs, your mother is making lunch, and you immediately abandon any other plans you'd had in order to help her with the hot soup and fresh bread. She tries to shoo you away, but you won't allow it. You dish out the soup, while she slices the bread, and she smiles warmly at you, the sort of affection you'd imagine from a mother to her new bride daughter. Perhaps it's in your head, but you feel it, like you share something in common with her now, this deep love for another human being. Your love may never bear children, and may never be recognized by anyone else, but it's real, and it's deep, and you imagine, if you could ever tell your mother, that she'd understand.

Through the afternoon, Brittany plays board games with the little girls, sitting with Mariana on her lap, and you help your mother prepare for the next day. While they'd come here as immigrants, your parents had embraced this American custom wholeheartedly, and each year, their small home fills with aunts and uncles and cousins, the product of a shared dream. So, you work with your elbows touching your mother's, cooking sausage for stuffing, setting yeast rolls to rise, peeling potatoes and storing them in a large pot of water so they won't brown before the day is out. When cooking for so many, it's easier to begin before the day comes, and you love doing this with her, you love the smell and the taste and the _feel_ of the kitchen of your childhood.

After you serve leftover soup for dinner, the little girls begin pulling their shoes on. Mariana scarcely remembers last Thanksgiving, but she's bubbling with excitement from the way Carlotta and Concetta talk about the balloons. Your parents won't go uptown with you, the relish the solace that you taking the children brings to the home, but they bid you to keep them close, and your father insists upon giving you a few dollars for cab fare to get them to and from without riding the trains.

This time, Brittany sits in the front seat, and you hold Mariana on your lap, as the two bigger girls spread out beside you on the backseat. You catch a glimpse of your love in the mirror, and she grins at you, winking in such a way that no one can see but you. Your heart swells with love, and for once, you don't imagine if these children were yours. You simply feel her love in spending time with the little girls you love so much, and gratitude overtakes you as the driver whizzes up Fifth Avenue, and toward Central Park.

There's a small crowd gathering when you arrive, and Mariana squeals when she sees Felix the Cat, larger than life. The older girls too press their faces to the window, and you think of Brittany wasn't trying to be grown, she would do the same. They're a sight, when they all scramble out of the car, and you insist the Mariana keep a firm hold on your hand so she doesn't get lost in the bustle. Your father took you to see Felix when you were smaller than the girls are, and you still remember the wonder you felt watching the Macy's employees prepare for the biggest day of their year. Things have changed in the past few years, the war had made things difficult, but standing back and watching this, seeing the American flags that drape from the floats that line up, you remember the blessings the year has brought this country.

"Real fine lookin' things." Brittany says to you, taking your arm as Carlotta and Concetta keep a few steps ahead of you. "That's some cat, huh?"

"You don't know about Felix?" Carlotta turns around, surprised.

"I don't at all, little miss. Ya wanna tell me about him."

"They show 'im before the movies!" Mariana grins, and you squeeze her hand, always appreciative of her excitement.

"Well then, I've never been to the movies, so that explains it!"

"You've never been to the movies?" You gasp, though you don't mean to embarrass her.

"Not ever." She shakes her head. "I used to ask my brother to take me with 'im when he'd go with Mary Ann, but I don't suppose he wanted his little sister taggin' along. I haven't thought much about it since then, if I'm bein' honest with ya."

"Santana! Santana!" Concetta bounces up and down. "Can we take her? Can we?"

"We'll see what Mama says on Friday." You smile at the little girls as the bounce around, making plans, but truth be told, you're as excited for the idea as they are, always wanting to watch Brittany experience something new in the same way she's shown you a new world. "I think perhaps she'll let us go, maybe she'll even join us."

"That'd be swell, Santana." Brittany beams, still spellbound by the festivities that surround you.

You spend another hour there, letting Brittany and the girls take it in. Then, you buy them hot pretzels on the street, and Brittany shares hers with you, giving you the knot in the center because she knows it's the best part, and you swoon a little. Mariana falls asleep before you make it to a cab, and you hold her in your arms, realizing she'll soon be too heavy for you to hold. They're all growing so quickly that it astounds you, and in a way, you feel almost as if they're you're own. The little babies you've cared for since infancy. The sweet little children you kissed goodnight when your mother was taking laundry and mending. The fact that you haven't lost them simply because you've moved away means the world to you, and you're so grateful to your parents that they haven't shunned you for choosing to go without finding a husband.

Mariana sleeps in your arms in the cab, and Brittany sits in the front, and she looks back at you, smiling softly at the sight of you holding the little one, with Carlotta falling asleep with her head in your lap. It's far past their bedtimes, and when you get home, you lay Mariana down, and send the bigger girls to change while you take out your think, laying your nightgown out on the bed. Brittany gives you privacy to change, as is proper, and you do the same to her. You feel her eyes on you as the girls fall asleep, and you cuddle Mariana, looking directly across the room in the dim light that streams through the window. Brittany is only a few feet away from you, and you smile, waiting to see what she does.

"Thank ya." She mouths, holding her hand to her heart.

"For what?" You murmur back, heart fluttering.

"For today. 'S real nice to have a real holiday."

"It's only just begun, Brittany. Wait until tomorrow."

You wake early the next morning, and you leave Brittany and the little girls asleep while you wash up and dress before heading into the kitchen to find your mother already hard at work on yeast rolls. Quickly, you roll up your sleeves, and you stand beside her, helping to portion them out. She insists you stop to have a cup of coffee, but instead, you set it beside you on the counter, sipping as you work on the evening meal. Eventually, you leave her to work on the squash, and when you hear footsteps in the bedroom, you turn on the stove to make eggs, and you pour hot mugs of coffee for your father and Brittany.

She comes out of the bathroom dressed in new slacks and the shirt you'd heavily starched last week. Her hair is in a long braid down her back, and you smile at her, thinking of how beautiful she looks in her boyish way. You're glad she hadn't chosen to secretly pack a dress to wear, worried about the impression she'd make, and she grins at you as you set her coffee before her, and go to put slices of bread in the oven for toast.

"Can I help ya at all, Mrs. Lopez?" She asks, trying, you know, not to lean back in her chair as she does at home.

"That's quite alright, Brittany, you're a guest, and you should behave as one. Santana and I will have our preparations done before long, and when the relatives get here, we'll have more hands in the kitchen than we can handle."

"Alright, well, I could take out the girls if ya wanted, case they were to get underfoot."

"If you'd like to, you may." Your mother nods approvingly, and Brittany flashes you a grin.

"I'd like to very much, anyway I could be'f a help. I'm real good at running errands too."

"Just taking them out would keep them out of trouble. I do believe we've spoiled the young ones, for Santana has been at my side in the kitchen since she was about Mariana's age."

"Well she sure is somethin' special. She's been a real blessing, havin' her around the house since I built it. Couldn't ask for better."

"Brittany." You flush profusely, though you know it's the sort of adoration one might lay on a cherished boarder. "I like to be as much help as I can, my mother raised me so."

"I certainly did." Your mother kisses your forehead, flour covering her arms and right cheek. "And it's so wonderful to hear it's appreciated out there. I much prefer Santana to be in a home with another woman, than living in that apartment as she did. Seemed a bit improper to me, especially among all those men. My heart rests easier now, knowing that she stays with you."

"The timing sure did work out well." Brittany shrugs her shoulders, and though you feel a small guilt for the stories you must tell, to hear your mother say she's at ease with you living with Brittany settles your oft-churning stomach.

Once the eggs and toast are served, and your father retires to read in the sitting room, you help the little girls with their dresses and their hair. Before the leave with Brittany, you urge them to keep themselves neat, and you kiss each of them goodbye as she herds them off to the park. Your heart feels so strange whenever she's with them, and your smile is right on your cheeks as you close the door behind them and hurry back to the kitchen for help.

"She certainly is a different sort of girl." Your father appears in the kitchen, and your stomach swoops, nearly making your knees give way. "Reminds me of some of the nurses I met abroad, so full of ingenuity and ready to work as hard as they can, however they can."

"Her mother passed when she was very young." You tell him quietly, feeling as if you're sharing an intimate secret. "Her father was a captain in the navy in the first world war, and she grew up on boats in the harbor. Seems only natural she'd turn to fishing to make her living. She's certainly got a talent for it."

"Seems as such, a girl of your age building a house of her own. She looks barely older than a child, and your mother has told me of her great successes."

"She would have probably remained the first mate of her brother, had she not lost him, but circumstances had her take over the boat. The men on the island respect her deeply, and I feel safer for that, being her intimate friend."

"I'm glad for that, _mija._ " Your father nods. "I'll have to thank her for assuring that your safe."

"Papa." You shake your head, embarrassed. "It's alright."

Brittany and the little girls come back before company begins to come. Your mother allows Brittany to help peel potatoes while the girls set the table. You brush shoulders with her as you dice bread for stuffing, glad to share the counter in your mother's kitchen with her. It feels like home, and coupled with the smell of roasting turkey and the sound of your mother humming an old hymn, you're content.

When you're through in the kitchen, at least for the time being, you go to wash your face and arrange your hair. It's warm inside, and you're more than flushed, so you relish the cool water on your face. After you're through, and you come back out, your Aunt Rosa and Uncle Tito stand in the entryway, and little Louisa and Marco are quickly finding their place with the little girls. Brittany, for her part, stands off to the side, and you gently brush her arm with your hand, before leading her to greet your aunt and Uncle with you.

" _Tia._ " You smile, letting her embrace you. "It's so good to see you."

"The teacher." She beams with pride, holding your face in her hands. "Ana, I always knew you'd teach children. The little ones have always adored you."

"I've always done what I could do help keep them up from under adult feet." You reply modestly, though you can almost _feel_ Brittany's smile behind you. " _Tia_ Rosa, this is Brittany, she came with me from the beach to celebrate with us"

"Ah, of course. Maribel told me all about you, it seems my little nieces can't get enough of you, and wanted to visit."

"I think they just wanted to see Santana." She shakes her head shyly, and looks down at her toes. "It's so nice to meet ya."

It surprises you how shy Brittany is as she talks to your family as they come in. Though it's warm in the apartment, you can tell the pink in her cheeks is a blush, and you wish you could assuage her nerves. But instead, you try to stay with her as much as you possibly can. As you eat dinner, you sit across from her, and when she drops her napkin, you lean down to pick it up for her, squeezing her hand beneath it when you return it to her.

After dessert is through, you end up in the kitchen washing dishes while the men sip brandy on the fire escape, and the other women sit conversing in the sitting room. Brittany pads in, startling you, as you'd thought she was playing with the children, but a smile spreads across your face when you see her. She comes up at your side, and she takes the dish towel from your hand.

"Can I help ya with these?" She asks, tickling the inside of your wrist with her pinky.

"If you'd like to, I wouldn't mind the help. I wanted Mama to sit down and have a rest after all she did today."

"Ya really are so good to everyone. I'd've come in earlier had I known. Carlotta had me showin' the other little ones my jacks trick."

"You'll have them all knowing it before we leave, that's for certain." You hand her the turkey platter, and she dries it, careful not to drop it. "I never knew you were shy, Brittany."

"That's 'cuz I've known most everybody around for my whole life. But whenever I meet someone new, I'm real shy." She confesses, not pretending otherwise. "It wasn't so much with your parents, because they were just one at a time, and I felt like I knew a whole lot about 'em, but today was different."

"Would you like to take a walk together after this?" You offer, scrubbing out the gravy boat. "Get a little air?"

"I don't want ya to walk out on your family. I'll be alright."

"It's alright, I usually retire to my bedroom with a book later on in the evening, when Mama and the aunts talk about their children, and Papa and the uncles drink brandy. I think a walk would be really nice, if you'd like to take one, of course."

"I'd never say no to a walk with ya. I really miss bein' able to touch ya all I like, and I'd like to at least hold ya by the arm."

"I'd really like that too, Brittany."

Together, you finish up the dishes, and then put them away. Once you tell your mother that you're going out for a walk, you manage to gather up your warm things without alerting the little ones to your departure. As much as you love them, you'd rather not have seven small children to watch outside. And beyond that, you'd like just a few moments with Brittany, where she doesn't have to be shy around company, and you don't have to be quite as reserved in your affection for her.

You walk a few blocks in silence, and she takes your arm. There's something about the way she holds it, even if it could be seen by anyone else as just a gesture of friendship, that makes you know just how much she loves and cherishes you. You squeeze her forearm, and she cocks her head to the side, looking into your eyes as you turn the corner.

"I cannot even explain how happy I am that you came here with me. It means everything that I get to spend the holiday with you."

"Feels like somethin' outta one of your storybooks, like the Marches with all the sisters on Christmas Day or somethin'. I never knew Thanksgiving was quite like this, even Mrs. Karofsky doesn't put on such a spread, but it was real lovely. I liked the ice cream best."

" _Tia_ Cristina never forgets to bring the ice cream. It's Papa's favorite too." You rest your head on her shoulder for just a moment, before you lift it back up. "I'm sorry you missed out on Mrs. Karofsky's dinner though, I didn't mean to break your tradition."

"It's not broken if I'm startin' a new one with my lady love. And I think, perhaps, if ya really meant what ya said about stayin' back for Christmas, she'll have us over then."

"I really did mean what I've said, Brittany. I know Mama would have us both back again, but I suppose I'm beginning to feel a bit grown up, as if I should be making some Christmas traditions of my own."

"We're sure got enough trees around our house to cut down a real good one to haul inside, don't ya think?"

"I'd love to do that with you, Brittany." You sigh happily, and you play with the fringe on her scarf. "I love the idea of a cozy Christmas Eve by our fireplace, where perhaps we just wear pajamas and eat Christmas cookies and drink hot cocoa."

"Ya know, for a fancy city girl, ya really are simple."

"It makes me laugh that you think I'm fancy. Papa is educated, but you see how I've lived my life. We're not wealthy by any means, and the fanciest thing about me is that I went to a private school."

"It made ya real smart, that's for certain. But ya know what I mean, ya grew up with all these things around ya, not like me with just the water and sand. But ya still like to do things as I do."

"Nothing makes me more content than the idea of being by the fire with you, Brittany. I've always been satisfied with just my books and the quiet, but now to have you by my side makes it all the better."

"Did ya have fun today?" She asks, looking into your eyes. "Ya seem like ya really are the apple of everyone's eye."

"Both of my parents are older by quite a bit, so I was the first baby in the family. Mama…lost a few babies after I was born." You whisper, not sure you should speak your mother's stories like that, though you remember the times of great sadness. "So I was the only little one for a very long time. I think to see me grown means something to them."

"I wish I had aunts and uncles and cousins. 'S just me and Pop left, so it's awful lonely in our family. Suppose that's why he never cared much for holidays. It was nice to feel a house full today though. I do like your family somethin' fierce, Santana. They're real good folks."

"They like you as well. This morning, my father told me that he's very impressed with you, and he wanted to thank you for keeping me safe."

"Aw, shucks." Brittany blushes profusely, biting her thumbnail. "That's real nice of him. I wasn't sure what kind of impression I'd make on him, being different from other girls, and him havin' such proper ladies around."

"He said you remind him of some of the nurses he knew overseas."

"I really wanted to go, ya know. After my brother went, I thought I coulda been a real good nurse. But I was only sixteen, and then…I stopped bein' so brave after he was gone."

"I think you're _so_ brave, Brittany. Sometimes being brave means staying back and caring for things at home. You had your father and the Alcott to look out for, a whole crew of boys who needed the work you gave them."

"I never thought of it much like that…I just figured the bravest thing ya could do was to serve your country."

"It certainly is brave." You nod slowly. "But Papa told me such a thing, when I talked of becoming a nurse too. He said I was needed more at home, and I did that, sending money to Mama and the girls while he served."

"I sure am glad the war is over." She looks off into the distance, worried, perhaps, that another will come some day and take away someone else she loves. "Feels much better not worryin' all the time."

"So much to be thankful for this year, isn't there?"

"There sure is." She squeezes your hand, just for a moment, and your knees wobble. "'Specially havin' ya as my gal."


	22. But As Long As You Love Me So

After Thanksgiving, the weather turns bitter cold, and each morning, by the time you get to school, you're so chilled that it takes you nearly an hour to warm up. You're not certain how Brittany manages to work outside all day, but each night, you're sure to have a fire started when she gets home, and you're sure to stack blankets on the sofa, and fill her belly with piping hot food so she can get the chill out of her bones before you go to the drafty second floor of the house for bed.

During the second week of December, it becomes apparent that it's going to snow. Once it begins, Mr. Woodhull releases school early so the children have time to get home. When the last student is bundled up and out the door, you bundle yourself, and you begin the long walk down the snowy beach. The house is warm when you get inside, but you feel a sense of panic within you. Brittany is on the mainland, and with the way the snow is coming down, you're not sure she'll be able to get back.

She'd been talking about contacting the phone company to get a line out to your house, but as it stands, you're completely isolated from the world. The thought gives you jitters, and you look out the window at the deluge of whiteness that comes down. Part of you fears that if you leave, she'll come home and you'll be apart, but the greater part fears that you won't know she's safe. That second fear drives you to feed Lord Tubbington, and then bundle back up, leaving a note with your whereabouts just in case.

The Karofsky's house is the closest one with a phone, but it's still a long walk for you, especially in the wind and snow. You think it takes about an hour for you to get there, and when you knock on the door, you're nearby frozen, and soaked down to your underthings. Mrs. Karofsky opens up the door, and she seems shocked by your appearance, quickly ushering you inside, and helping you get off your wet clothing.

"Santana. I was just sendin' Paul down to check on ya. David called, and Brittany was real worried about ya."

"You were the closest with a phone." You shiver, standing by their fire place as you try to warm up. "I was worried they'd get stuck over there, and was…a little nervous to be in the house alone."

"I told Brittany, buildin' that house way outta the way was gonna be trouble when the bad weather came. They're gonna try'n get back, if the ferry's runnin' but I said it'd be unwise for her to traipse down the beach in this storm. I'm glad ya came on down, now we'll keep ya both for the night."

"Oh, no. I couldn't impose on you like that, Mrs. Karofsky."

"I've told ya time and again to call me Debra, Santana. Here, we're all family, and now that ya live among us, ya ought to be able to treat us as such."

"My apologies… _Debra,_ but I don't want to put anyone out on my account."

"Nonsense. If ya don't mind havin' to share a bed with Brittany, we'll put ya up in the garret. It's warmer up there than ya think. But before we talk about all that, let's get ya some dry things to put on."

"Thank you." You murmur, taken by the hospitality you always encounter among the people of this island. "I'd appreciate that quite a bit."

Once you've changed into one of Mary Ellen's dresses and thick, warm stockings, you help Mrs. Karofsky in the kitchen. She's cooking some thick beef stew, and you get the risen dough in the oven for her. There isn't much she'll let you do, but you'd feel improper if you weren't helping her. When dinner is set cooking, you retire into the sitting room with her and Mary Ellen, while Mr. Karofsky goes to meet David and Brittany at the marina, to let them know that you're at their house instead of your own.

Just after five, the three of them burst in the door in a flurry of snow. It takes everything in you not to throw yourself into her arms. The wind and snow had you so worried about her crossing the water, and you're so grateful she made it safely. But instead you stand, and you give her the same sort of hello you give to David. Later, when you're in the garret, you'll be able to embrace her. Later, you'll be able to tell her how fearful you'd been about her safety. For now though, you'll keep appearances, as you're company in the Karofsky home, and ought not act strangely.

The wind whips and howls outside the house while you eat dinner, and you wonder how much snow is falling. Truth be told, you're concerned about how you'll make your way down the beach when the snow stops, if the drifts are too big. As much as you appreciate the hospitality of the Karofskys, you prefer to be in your own space. You prefer the quiet of your home, tucked away inside with your love. And beyond that, you worry about Lord Tubbington. Though you'd left him plenty of food and water, you hope he's alright there alone. You hope that it won't be days before you can get back to him.

The Karofksys go to bed early. It's strange to you, since sometimes you and Brittany stay up so late listening to the radio, reading or talking. But when they retire, you go upstairs to the garret. You're surprised by the warmth of the room, considering it doesn't seem to be so well built, but you're comfortable as you change into your borrowed pajamas, and Brittany changes into hers. She knows you're always worried by bad weather, and she touches you softly, reassuring you that all is going to be okay, before you crawl into the warm double bed.

Something makes you _know_ that the Karofskys aren't the sort to come up and disturb you, so you crawl into Brittany's arms. It's a warmth you needed in the storm, and you take it in, letting her rub your back, letting her soothe you. You're not sure quite why bad weather makes you so jumpy, but it does, and being close to your love is about the only thing that manages to settle you.

"'S alright ya know. I made it back to ya, even though Pop shut down the ferry after our ride."

"I was so concerned you would get back here, and I wouldn't be home. But I couldn't stay there and not try to call you to see if you were safe."

"I oughta get on callin' up the phone company, seein' when they'll be able to run a line out to the house. I didn't like the idea of ya out there with no way to get in touch with anyone. I'm glad ya came up here."

"I thought it was the wisest. I do feel bad about Lord Tubbington though. I hadn't expected to spend the night here, and if I had, I'd have tried to bring him with me."

"He'll be alright. We'll go back home in the mornin' and check in on him."

"Do you think we'll be able to? The snow seems awfully bad outside."

"Beach might be alright, when the tide comes up, it'll drag some of the snow out, and if we walk at low tide, we'll be alright. I sure do wish ya had some warmer winter boots though. I'm 'fraid your feet might freeze in the ones ya got."

"Perhaps I'll order some before we get another bad storm. It's too late at this point to do anything else now."

"We could switch shoes, maybe. Ya could wear my heavy boots, and I'll wear the shoes."

"Brittany, no." You shake your head, kissing the tip of her nose. "You're so good to me, but I want your feet toasty in those boots of yours, since you have sense enough to own them."

"I think ya got lots of sense, ya just aren't used to these winters here yet."

"I should be though, it's my second winter here."

"Is it the expense of 'em, Santana? Because if it is, we can go down and put 'em on my account when the ferry's runnin' again."

"No, no." You insist, though your heart swells at her insistence that she care for you. "Just a silly vanity. I'm making quite enough now that I can afford new boots, and perhaps a warmer coat too."

"Ya'd certainly be warmer in trousers than your pretty dresses too."

"I'm not sure Mr. Woodhull would be keen on me wearing trousers to school." You laugh a bit, keeping to yourself that you wouldn't feel quite comfortable in them even if he were okay with it. "But I think the other things will prepare me better for this weather."

"Ya really don't like the bad weather at all."

"I don't. I know you do, but you're much heartier than I am."

"I love that ya are dainty and delicate, but gettin' real good at handlin' the harshness of this place. And mostly what I love about the bad weather is that I get to cuddle up with ya in the middle of the day. I was missin' that today."

"We're just lucky Mrs. Karofsky took us in for the night. I don't think we'd have done well making it home in this storm."

"I don't think so either. This is a rough storm even for me. I've never seen it snow so early in the year. Ground's still wet, so it's really slippery. Ya shoulda seen it at the shipyard. Mikey fell pretty hard, and Davey had to half-carry him to the ferry."

"Was he alright?"

"He'll be awful sore tomorrow, I'd say, but nothin' broken or any of that."

"I'm glad you weren't hurt." You hug her a little tighter, tucking your face into her neck.

"I don't like ya worryin' so much. I promise ya, even in the worst of storms, I'll get home to ya."

You fall asleep curled into Brittany, even as the weather brutally batters the attic windows. When you wake in the morning, you can see a still grayness outside, and leaving Brittany to sleep, you slip to the window, pressing your nose against the frosted pane to see what's happening outside. The snow has piled into drifts on the wooden paths during the night, and given the location of the Karofskys' house, you can't see what the beach looks like.

"Mornin'." Brittany rasps from the bed, pushing herself up into a seated position. "Aren't ya cold like that?"

"I'm alright, I just wanted to see how much snow we got."

"Hmm." She gets up from the bed, and pushes herself into your back, putting her warm hands on your chilled face and looking out the window. "Real pretty out there. I ought to go down and help Davey start diggin' out though."

"Okay." You nod, because you know it's right, but still, you have wish she could stay with you. You wish you could curl back up under the blanket and kiss her all day long. You wish you were alone, though you know you will be soon.

Mrs. Karofsky already has pancakes ready by the time you dress in your now-dry clothes from yesterday, and you make your way downstairs. Brittany and David eat quickly, and then bundle up in their warm things to try and clear a path outside of the house. You long to kiss her cheeks before she goes out into the cold, but instead, you settle for brushing the back of her hand as you hand her a glove. While she's outside, you begin straightening the garret bedroom and making up the bed. If she's right, and you're going home today, you want it to be as you found it, and you wish to do something to thank the Karofksys for their hospitality. You know that Brittany is like family to them, but for you, it's different. You're a newcomer, and they've welcomed you with open arms. You appreciate it more than you can express.

It's nearly two hours later before Brittany and David come back inside. Her face is chaffed and chapped from the cold, and you shudder, thinking of the pain she must feel. But she doesn't complain. Instead, she insists to Mr. Karofsky that you're going to head on home now, despite his protestations, and you thank them all profusely, before you bundle up as best as you can, slipping hot potatoes in your pockets to keep your hands warmer as you set out to make your way down the beach.

The snow is deep, and you feel a deep ache in your bones at the bitter cold. You can barely feel your feet as you walk, and try as you might to convince Brittany that you're okay, she stops every few moments to check on you. To make sure the wind isn't too much, to take your hand in hers as you wade through waist deep snow. It may have been a poor choice to go home, you think, considering the warm fire at the Karofsky house, but you trust Brittany, and if she insists you'll get home safely, than you believe her.

Your little house is covered with snow when you arrive, and because the shovel is up at the top of the stairs, Brittany helps you up the steep embankment of snow. Your feet seem to be frozen, and when she manages to push open the door, you nearly collapse in the entry way. Though you know she's anxious to clear the snow from the porch, you insist that she warm up first, and she goes to the thermostat first, raising the temperature before she starts a fire. Your feet hurt to touch as you undo your boot laces, but you think they're okay, you think once they've warmed up, you'll be fine. Sometimes you wish you were heartier like Brittany, you think it would better suit you in this environment, but when she pushes the sofa by the fire for you, something in you loves being the special thing she takes care of. Something in you knows it means the world for her to be able to do these things for you, when you care for her in your own way.

"Ya oughta be out of this dress and into somethin' dry." She insists, ignoring how wet _she_ is in favor of checking up on you. "Lemme get ya some warm things while ya rest here."

"Brittany, you've been outside far longer than I have today, you ought to be the one resting."

"I work out in the cold, this ain't nothin' on me. But if it makes ya feel better, I'll save all the shovelin' here for the mornin', and I'll bundle up in warm things too."

"That would make me feel a lot better. Your face is raw and chapped. Will you let me put some Vaseline on it?"

"Ya always love rubbing my red spots down with Vaseline." She laughs. "But I'll bring it down, if that'll make ya happy, sweetheart."

Brittany disappears up the stairs, and you continue to warm your icy feet near the fire. You don't get them too close, you're afraid that warming them too fast will be detrimental, but you do keep rubbing them, trying to get the burning chill out of them. When she comes back down the stairs, she's in her pajamas, and you have to smile at the sight of her like that in the middle of the day. In her arms are a flannel nightgown of yours, and a pair of her thickest socks, and you smile, thinking how silly it will be to lounge around like this all day, but also incredibly grateful that you'll have the opportunity.

It's strange for you to dress right in the sitting room, but you do, shedding your wet dress and stockings, and laying them over the back of a chair after you quickly pull the nightgown over your head and button it up. You sit back down, and you slide the socks on your feet, curling your toes into the knit warmth. Brittany takes her spot besides you, and she gathers your feet up into her lap, softly rubbing them as you give her an affectionate smile.

"That is really helpful, thank you."

"Just want ya to be all warmed up. Looks like the snow's gonna start up again real soon, and I'm glad we made it back safely."

"I hadn't realized we might get caught with more snow. I'm not even sure where it'll go at this point."

"Up to the eaves, I suppose. Sure am glad everything's nailed on real secure here, and we've got plenty'f food."

"As much as I love our privacy, it does make me awfully nervous that we're so far from everyone else. Do you think, perhaps, we should have stayed with the Karofskys?"

"Nah, I think we're just fine right here. We've got all we need for awhile, don't we?"

"I just…" You pause, realizing that you're shaking a bit. "I keep thinking of how grateful I am that you made it back to me. I'd have been so afraid, even over there, not knowing if you were safe or not."

"Ya don't have to worry about it now." She kisses both of your cheeks, and takes your hands in hers. "We're warm in our house by the fire, Lord Tubbington's nappin' away on our bed upstairs, and I've got ya just about in my arms."

"Come here, let me do your face." You take the tub of Vaseline that she set down on the table, and you coat your fingers with it, gently rubbing it across her cheeks and nose until she shines. "I hate that the cold does this to your beautiful face."

"It's nothin' much. Ya already've got my hands and feet taken care of with that nice cream ya use. I've never had skin so soft."

"I don't care so much about the softness, your callouses are such a comfort to me, and let me feel all of your strength whenever you touch me. But I don't like so much when you crack and bleed and ache from the weather."

"Product of my profession, I suppose." She shrugs a little. "But ya always care so nicely for me, it makes it all worth it."

"It's the least I can do for you, with all you do for me." Kissing her forehead, you smile. "Are you hungry? I could make us cheese sandwiches now, and get a chicken in the pot for soup tonight."

"How about ya let me do both'f those things? Your feet are achy, and it won't take me but ten minutes to go in the kitchen and take care of it."

"Brittany…"

"Please let me?" Her voice is soft, the way she speaks only to you, and you acquiesce, nodding. "I'll even make ya some hot coffee to warm ya up a little more."

"Thank you, love." You murmur. "I'll find something on the radio, in the meanwhile."

Once you find music on the radio, you settle back into the cushions of the sofa, curling your toes in the warm socks again, and feeling the tingles in your toes. You slip the ring back from your necklace onto your ring finger, before Brittany comes back in with a tray bearing the coffee, hot sandwiches, and a plate of Charles' Chips. You eat in relative silence, and when you're through, you turn to study her, grease from the chips on her lips, and the sheen from the Vaseline making her face glow in the firelight.

"What do you think Mrs. Karofsky makes of us?" You ask her quietly. "Or anyone, for that matter?"

"What do ya mean?" She furrows her brow, trying to understand fully what it is you're saying.

"I wonder sometimes, if my love for you is painted on my face. I feel my heart glow when I speak of you, and I feel such a pull to be close to you, that I can't help but think it might be evident to anyone who sees me."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush, and she sets down her cup in order to think on your words. "I was always friends with all the boys, so I don't know how women friends behave much. Is it much different than we are in public?"

"I try to mirror how I always was with my friends when I'm with you, but I find it difficult. You're my very best friend, but you're also my great love. It's almost impossible for the lines not to blur in my head."

"I forgot so many times yesterday that I couldn't just love ya like I always do. It's different when we visit your Mama, there's always little girls around us."

"It is." You nod. "But we're home now, tucked away from the snow and the world."

"I wish I could give ya the outside world too ya know. Or at least the people we love."

"It wouldn't be wise, Brittany." You shake your head, squeezing her hand. "I couldn't bear it to hear anyone I love tell me my love for you was wrong."

"I know it, I'd never want anything to hurt ya. I just don't see why it's such a worry to everyone. We're not the only ones who love someone like ourselves."

"It's just not proper." You inhale sharply, thinking of how you've lived your whole lives governed by the rules of propriety, until you met her, and you couldn't any longer, because you're feelings were too deep, and grew too quickly. "A woman is meant to be the wife of a man. But I'm not sorry in my heart for wanting to be the wife of a woman. It's why I can't take communion at church any longer, because I can't confess something I don't believe is wrong to clear my soul."

"The rules are all awful silly. I think if someone's happy, then it ought to be okay."

"Like the golden rule."

"I don't know that one." She bites her lip, looking for you to explain.

"Do onto others as you'd have done onto you. It was given to Jesus, and I was taught it's the most important tenet of my belief. Perhaps Mama would understand that I've given love and been loved in return, all the while doing good works, but I'd just…rather not have to be told it's sinful, if she feels that way."

"I understand that." Brittany nods, stroking your hair. "I don't suppose Pop would care much either way, he's awful busy with all the work he does, but it'd hurt me too, if he told me there was anything wrong about lovin' ya as I do."

"It's the safest that we keep this close to us. Your friends know, and they've accepted our love, and I think that's quite enough for me."

"You alone are enough for me, Santana."

"As are you, Brittany."


	23. Say You'll Never Stray More Than Two Lip

After the snowstorm, you resumed your everyday life, though it seemed every week was punctuated by more snow falling, more snow to clear, more hands and feet to warm by the fireplace when you came in. You'd spent Christmas with the Karofskys as you'd planned, and managed to make it back to the city to ring in the new year with your family. Things were good, things were calm, and tucked away with Brittany in your little house by the sea, you felt content.

With hope for the new year, you settle into your routine of teaching, and you kiss Brittany goodbye each morning as she goes off to work on the mainland. You still worry, of course you do, but she always comes back to you, she always sits across from you at the table each evening, and crawls into bed with you each night. Though you wish you could shout from the rooftops how deeply in love you are, you settle for whispers, you settle for kisses, you settle for the purest love you think anyone in the world feels.

You're cooking dinner one evening when she comes in with a loud bang. You jump, and you tap your hand against the pot that you're cooking beans in. It smarts, and you wrap it quickly in a damp towel before you lower the flame and go to see her in the doorway. She looks distraught, and you run to her side, taking her hand with your uninjured one, and looking into her eyes.

"Brittany, what is it?"

"My pop." She chokes, tears running down her face as soon as she says it. "He's sick."

"Sick?"

"He came to see me at the shipyard today. He went t'see the doc because his leg's been botherin' him, and Doc says he's got skin cancer."

"They can surgically treat that, right? I know that my father—"

"It's real bad, Santana. Doc says he shoulda been checked out last summer, it's spreadin', and they don't know if there's anythin' they can do to stop it."

"Oh, sweetheart." You gather her up in your arms, and you let her sob. Her whole body shakes, and you can't do anything to help her, as much as it physically pains you to see her in such a state of grief.

"I lost my Mama, my brother, and now Pop's sick. I can't lose him, Santana, I can't. Do ya know how bad that'll hurt?"

"I know." You tell her, though truly you don't. You've never experienced a loss near as great as she has, and to think of her losing someone else makes you feel lightheaded and sick to your stomach. "What can I do?"

"I don't think there's anything ya can do. I've gotta go over to his house tonight. I know ya made ya dinner, but…I've gotta go over there now."

"I could come with you, if you'd like. It's just a stew, I could pack it up, and we could make sure he can something to eat."

"Ya wouldn't mind comin' with me?"

"Of course I wouldn't. I'd do anything for you, Brittany. You know that."

"I know, but I know sickness scares ya. I don't want ya to be scared."

"I can be brave for you, honestly."

"Okay. Okay, yeah. That sounds real good."

While she goes to change out of her work things, you set to packing up the stew in a glass container. You feel so ill at the thought of her father being sick with something that can't be cured, but you resolve to stay strong. She needs that from you, more than she needs anything else, and as her partner, as her _wife,_ you have to do just that. If you can do nothing else in the world, you want to protect Brittany, because she's done nothing but protect you, since the moment you met.

When she comes back downstairs, her eyes are red and puffy, but she's put on a brave face. It breaks your heart to see her so forlorn, but you try with all of your might not to cry. If she sees you cry, then she'll have you stay home, and you know that she needs you by her side as she talks to her father about his illness. So you simply slip your hand into hers, and you let her lead you out onto the snow covered beach.

You reach her father's house, and you think of the few times you'd been there when she was still living with him. You think of the dust covered memories of his life before he lost his wife and son, and you steel yourself. This won't be an easy task, hearing a man of few words tell his daughter things she won't want to hear, and you wonder if he'll even say them in front of you, a near stranger. You don't know him well enough to consider what is going through his head, but you hope for Brittany's sake that he won't make her sit through it alone. She's brave, and she's strong, and she's wonderful, but you think, perhaps, that such a thing might break her.

"Pop!" She calls out as she opens the door. "Are ya home?"

"I'm in the kitchen, Brittany."

"I brought Santana with me, she made a real good stew for dinner, and we thought ya might like some."

"I was just about to eat a sandwich." He tells you both as you enter the kitchen. "But I think I could put that on hold for some stew. Ya made it, young lady?"

"I did, sir." You nod. "There's plenty."

"Well that was real nice of ya. Man like me could use somethin' to stick to my bones after the day I've had."

"May I go in the cabinet for some dishes?"

"Make yourself at home, Miss Lopez, any friend'f Brittany's is welcome to do that in here. 'Fraid ya won't find much, but what I've got, you're welcome to."

You nudge Brittany to sit down while you serve up the stew, and much to your surprise, she listens to you. She sits with her father, and she studies him. You see it out of the corner of your eye, and you bite your lip. It's painful to see her hurt so, but you don't let it distract you from your task. You serve them both, and then you sit down with your own dish. In the silence, you try to determine what it is you should do, but instead of speaking, you just eat. They'll speak when they're ready, and you have to give them the space to do it.

"What did the doctor say, Pop?"

"We've got ourselves company, Brittany."

"Santana's not company. She's my best friend, and I wouldn't've brought her if I thought it'd make ya keep quiet on me."

"A man's medical business isn't meant to be shared with the world." He remarks gruffly, and you long to take Brittany's hand beneath the table.

"She's not going to share it with anyone. She came with me, so I could hear ya say it and have someone to walk me home after. Ya made it sound like the news wasn't real good."

"News ain't real good. Doc's afraid there's nothin' he could do 'bout it now. Says I've just gotta wait it out."

"What what out?" You watch her swallow the lump in her throat, and your fingers twitch.

"The disease runnin' its course. Doc says I ought to live my life as I was for as long as I can, so that's what I'm settin' out to do. Keep on ridin' the ferry and such. Best I can do."

"Pop—"

"Brittany, there ain't no sense gettin' worked up about it. It is what it is. Didn't think it was your Mama's time to go, or your brother's, but it was. Same'll be for me when the time comes."

"'Scuse me." She stands up abruptly. "I need to use the bathroom."

There's a beat of uncomfortable silence between you and Captain Pierce when Brittany leaves the room. You spear at a carrot in your dish, and finally, you make eye contact with him. There's so much you'd love to say to the man who raised the love of your life, but you're quite intimidated by him, so you say nothing, until he speaks first.

"She's quite fond'f ya, ya know."

"I'm quite fond of her too, sir."

"I suspect ya will keep an eye on her when I'm gone? Make sure she doesn't get too lonesome?"

"Sir…perhaps the doctor is wrong."

"Your Pop's a doctor, isn't he? Doctor's aren't likely to give bad news if the news is gonna change. I've lived a long life. Met my Mary later'n I'd've liked, didn't have near enough time with her, and lost my boy, but I made best of it. Have a real good girl to show for it too, I'm proudest of her of anything, except maybe when I watched the boy step out in his uniform for the first time. She's a real good one, I just hate the idea of bein' lonesome. I'm sure she's not likely to marry, since she's a special sort, but I'd feel much better goin' if I knew she wouldn't be on her own."

"I'll watch out for her. She's something very special to me, and I'll make sure she's not alone. And sir, I'd like to offer all the help I can give while you're sick. I'll cook your meals, clean your house, whatever it takes to give you a bit of peace of mind."

"Peace of mind'll be treatin' me the same as ya would before, so long as I'm well enough to bear it. But I know the time'll come when I won't be, so if ya could help her in dealin' with me then, it'd be much appreciated."

"I promise it then."

When Brittany comes back into the room, her eyes are red and her face is blotchy, but she doesn't say a word about it. She just sits down and finishes her dinner, changing the topic of conversation to anything but her father's illness. When you're all through eating, you insist upon cleaning up, and Captain Pierce brings Brittany into the other room, likely to have a private conversation. You don't intrude, you never would, so you just wash the dishes, and when you're finished, you wait for Brittany to come back in. She tells you that you both ought to head home, and you nod, saying goodbye to her father before she turns on the flashlight, and you begin your long walk down the beach.

You walk right along the shoreline, where the ocean waves have licked away the snow, and she slips her hand into yours. She doesn't say anything, and you don't force her to speak. She will, when she's ready, and you'll be there to pick up her pieces when she needs to fall apart. The evening has been emotionally draining, so much more so for her, and you squeeze her hand, stooping to pick up a perfect sand dollar, and then slipping it into her free hand. You don't know why, but you want her to have it, and at that gesture, she begins to cry.

"Brittany."

"I don't feel like talkin' much." She tells you, sniffling. "Just want to cry a bit, if that's alright."

"Whatever you need, I'm right here."

She cries the whole way home, and you long to gather her up in your arms. You long, more than anything, to make this better. But you know that you can't. You know that you just need to be at her side as she processes, and you couldn't think of anywhere else in the world you'd be.

When you get back home, she begins to fix the creaking front door. You don't bother to tell her that it's late, and it can wait until tomorrow. You just let her get her tools, and you go upstairs to change for bed. When she finally comes up, you're sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. Before she comes to your side, she changes into her sleep clothes, and she washes up. She finally sits, spent with grief, and you take her hand again, reminding her that you're right here.

"I'd like to lay down." She whispers. "I'll talk better if I'm holding ya real tight."

"Okay." You comply, pulling back to covers on the bed to make a space for you beneath them, and you lay with her, nose to nose, and hands on her waist. "Is this alright?"

"Just fine, yeah." She sniffles. "Do ya think we're all meant to die real young in my family? Death keeps comin' and there's nothin' I can do to stop it."

"Honey, I don't think that's how it works."

"My Mama was only twenty-two when I was born, and they lost her. My brother was only twenty-one, and he was supposed to have a whole big life ahead'f him. Neither of them were much older than I am now. And Pop…he's only fifty-one. It scares me a lot, ya know."

"I can't begin to imagine how much, Brittany. But that doesn't mean you're going to die young too. I plan to live with you until we're eighty-something, and can barely walk the beach anymore."

"I just don't know if I'll make it that long. Scares me to think I won't, and scares me to think that I'm gonna lose my Pop too. I know he doesn't say much, but he's a real good man, and he doesn't deserve to die now."

"I know that he doesn't." You think of saying that perhaps God has a grander plan for him, but you think that will just make the tears fall faster from Brittany's eyes, so you bite your lips shut. Nothing you can say will make it better, nothing you can say will make her hurt less.

"It's just not fair. I don't know much about God, but why would he do this."

"My mother always says that God works in mysterious ways, but I don't think that's much of a comfort to you right now."

"I'm gonna have to take care of him when he's real sick. I don't even know how to do that."

"While you were out of the room, I promised him that I'd help you."

"Ya did?"

"I did. He asked me if I would take care of you after he was gone, and I promised that too. While he's ill, we'll care for him together. I would never want you to take on such a burden alone."

"Ya don't have to do that."

"I know, but I love you, and you love your father. There's nowhere else I'd be but by your side."

"Ya really are the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me. My life's had a lotta sadness, but havin' ya makes me real happy."

"I'm going to help you through this." You promise her. "I know that I can't take away your pain, but I can be by your side."

"I think I'll need that a whole lot."


	24. Only Forever If You Care to Know

After learning of Brittany's father's diagnosis, you try to think of anything you possibly can to fix things. But as much as you think, you know you can't possibly do anything. Even your father, as wonderful of a doctor as he is, won't be able to do anything to change the expected outcome for Captain Pierce. So, because you can think of nothing else to do, you cook. Each night, when you make dinner for you and Brittany, you make enough for her to bring him down at the ferry terminal the next morning in a glass container. You know that he's still well enough to care for himself, but the caregiver in you wants to make sure he has enough. He gave you his quiet acknowledgment that you're someone special to Brittany, and as he is someone special to her too, you'll do everything in your power to make things easier for him.

Brittany is quiet in the days following the news. You don't try to draw her out of her shell, because you know that she needs to process it in whichever way seems right for her. So you leave her be. You encourage her to go duck hunting at the break of dawn one Saturday with her friends, you encourage her to stop at the bar after work if she needs to let off some steam. She goes hunting, but she doesn't go to the bar. She tells you that she'd rather come home to you, and in her quiet way, she lays her head in your lap, and she silently cries while you run your fingers through her hair and listen to the radio.

Though it's late in the winter, a deep freeze falls over the island. School is closed again, for fear of the pupils freezing on their walks, and when Brittany comes back home shortly after she leaves for work one morning, you learn that the bay has frozen over, and the ferry isn't running. Together, you stay inside and you bake, making all sorts of treats for yourselves, for her father, for the Karofskys. You don't know how long the world will remain frozen, but while it is, you take advantage of the moments you have to just make Brittany smile, wrapped up in your own little world.

"I'm gonna go check on Pop, and hear the news down at the docks." She tells you, late in the afternoon. "I don't want ya to come out though, it's awful cold, and ya don't have it in your bones to brave it."

"I won't argue with you on that." You smile at her, looking up from the letter you're writing to your mother. "Though I hope you'll be careful out there."

"I'll bundle up real good. Ya know my boots'd survive the tundra, and my coat's real warm too."

"While you're gone, I'll start up a nice chicken stew and some cornbread. It'll warm you up nice when you come back."

"I can cook when I get home if ya want, I don't always want ya to feel like ya have to."

"I don't." You shake your head. "But I like to do it. It makes me feel good to take care of you."

"Alright, if your sure ya don't mind. I sure do love your chicken stew." She grins.

"I know. Send my best wishes to your father, and make sure you take a good amount of these cookies to him."

"I will." Brittany finishes lacing up her boots, and she comes over to kiss you on the lips. "And make sure ya tell everyone in your family that I said hello, while ya write them."

"I promise."

After she leaves, you finish up your letter to your mother, and then you write little notes to each of the girls to put in the envelope with it. Though you're able to speak to them on the phone occasionally, they love to get their own letters from you, and they write you back, Concetta's careful penmanship telling each of their stories. You seal the envelope, and you leave it on the entry table to be mailed when the ferry runs again. You're not certain how long you'll be without it, and you're grateful that David runs you messages from Mr. Woodhull about school closings. Sometimes it feels awfully isolated out where you are, but when Brittany is home, you cocoon yourself in your bubble of solitude.

You begin to stew the chicken and vegetables before you start up on the cornbread, and the house fills with that warm savory smell of comfort cooking. As you cook, you hum to yourself, and you barely hear the door open when Brittany arrives back. She calls out to you from the entry, and you set the pan of bread in the oven before you slip out of your apron and go to meet her. You look her over, and she has a large bundle in her arms. As she unwraps it, she reveals a very small sandy haired child, and you look at her quizzically, trying to make sense of where and why she acquired a baby.

"He's sleepin'." She tells you. "Went and cried himself to sleep as I carried him back over here."

"Who is he? And where did you get him?" You ask, as you carefully take the bundled child out of her arms so she can undress. He's soft and warm, and you press your cheek to his head, relishing the feel of a baby in your arms with missing your sisters so.

"He's Hannah Redding's little fella. She took sick this morning, and the medics were bringin' her across the ice to the hospital. Everyone was tryin' to figure out what to do with Robbie, and I couldn't say no when they asked me if we had the space."

"Of course not." You gasp, thinking how scared the poor child must be, his father already lost in the war, and his mother ill. "Let me unwrap him and lie him down on the sofa, if the tears tired him out so, he may sleep a bit longer."

"I hope so. Poor fella had a tough time of it. Lucky I know him enough that he wasn't too scared to come with me. I'm not sure how long we'll have 'im. If the ice opens back up and ya go back to school, I'll call Mr. Brewster and take the days off'a work."

"We'll figure it out when the time comes." You promise, lying the sleeping child on the sofa and taking his bag of things from Brittany. It feels quite nice to have him here."

"I know ya love a baby. He's just three, last October. He talks an awful lot, and certainly eats like a little man."

"There's plenty for dinner. We'll keep him well until his mother is well, and it'll be one less thing for her to worry about while she's recovering."

"It's likely her appendix. She'll have to have it out, and it'll be some time before she comes home. If ya don't mind stayin' with him in the mornin', I'll go down to Davey's and see if I can give her a call, let her know he's got a real professional in ya carin' for him."

"I'm hardly a professional, Brittany."

"Ya helped raised your sisters, I think ya know real well how to do it. I'll help ya best I can, but I've never cared for one before."

"The little girls love you just as well. I believe you're very natural with children. Robbie seems to have taken to you as well."

"I just like the little fella. And your sisters too. But I wouldn't know what to do without ya around."

"We'll do it together then, that way you'll get the hang of it."

While little Robbie sleeps on the sofa, Brittany takes his things upstairs to the second bedroom. He doesn't have a lot with him, but you'll make do with it for as long as you have him. There's a warmth in your chest at the idea of having a little one in the house, though it pangs you to think of how you miss your sisters. But still, watching rub his eyes and wake up, you can't help but smile, thinking of how nice it will be to have someone to care for, something that comes so naturally to you.

"Hi, Robbie." You smile softly as he opens his eyes. "I'm Santana."

"Where's Mama?"

"Your Mama is getting all fixed up. You're going to stay here with me and Brittany for a few days. I know it might seem a little scary, but I promise you, we're going to take really good care of you."

"Miss Brit'any?"

"She'll be right back downstairs." You sit on the sofa beside him, ruffling his soft hair. "She's just getting a bed all ready for you, since you seem a bit sleepy."

"And hungry."

"And hungry?" You laugh. "Well I can take care of that. How about we go into the kitchen and get you some dinner?"

Tentatively, he takes your hand and you lead him into the kitchen. Once you help him up onto one of the chairs, you go to the pot of stew, and you take some out to cool for him, blowing on the steaming chicken like you'd do for the little girls. He waits patiently, staring at you with big brown eyes, and when Brittany comes back down, you bring his bowl over to him, and you dish up two for you and Brittany. Sitting at the table like that, you can't help but smile at Brittany, thinking how sweet it is to have a dinner like this. It's something you'll never have, not for the long term, at least, but while it lasts, it's such a nice moment in time.

"Lookie who's awake!" Brittany bounces into the kitchen, looking more energetic than you've seen her in weeks. "How ya doin' little fella?"

"Miss Brit'any, Miss San-tana is gettin' me supper."

"So silly, callin' me _miss._ I heard we're havin' chicken stew, what do ya think of that?"

"I like chicken!"

Little Robbie eats more than you expect, and when he's through with dinner, you help him bathe and change into the long nightshirt Brittany brought with him. He reminds you of Mariana, the way he nearly falls asleep in the tub, and Brittany carries him off to the guest bedroom, arranging him in the middle of the bed. You go into your bedroom and take your Beatrix Potter book from the shelf, and once Brittany has him tucked in, you sit on the edge of the bed, and you read about Peter Rabbit to him, only stopping to stroke his head when he cries again for his mama.

You think it must be awfully scary for him, being away from her. You remember the first night you arrived on the island, and you cried yourself to sleep, missing your own mother so deeply, even at nineteen. He's braver than you can imagine, stopping his tears to listen to the story, and Brittany smiles over at you, nodding at you to keep going, because she wants to hear as well. Once he finally falls asleep, you stroke his head once more, and you leave the door open a crack, before you go to change into your own nightclothes.

Brittany doesn't turn the bedside light off when she gets into bed beside you. Instead, she just props her head up on her hand, and she studies your face. You can tell she's thinking deeply, and you wait for her to speak before you say a word. It's a long time, and she kisses you first, so you nod, telling her to say what she's thinking without words, reminding her that it's you, and she can tell you anything there is in the world.

"I really like watchin' ya with the little ones. Seems unfair that I can't put a baby in ya like anyone else who's been married."

"You're thinking of that again?" You question her softly, brushing the hair that falls across her face.

"Havin' Robbie here, and thinkin' about Pop makes me contemplate things." She shrugs. "Though I'm real glad I never have to worry about ya dyin' like Mama did. Still though, ya remind me of a real good mama, the way ya know just the way to do things."

"I had to be helpful to mine. It was easier on her, with working and all, knowing that there was someone who could care for my sisters just as she would. It didn't come naturally to me at first, it took quite a bit of crying from the elder ones, and so many burnt meals that we had to eat anyway when times were hard. My grandmother didn't move in with us until after Mariana was born, so before that, it was quite a bit of trial and error for me."

"Ya seem to do it as if ya were born to. And besides, ya were just a girl yourself when ya started on it."

"Simply the way it was, just as you began fishing when you were only a girl. I'm certain I couldn't cast a line, so you're much ahead of me with how you behave toward the children."

"I like 'em a whole lot, that's for certain. They never think it's funny that I wear britches or run around without my shoes on."

"Children never do, they're special like that." You smile, and you play with the collar of her nightshirt. "Just as you're special for who you are."

"Just seems a shame that we've got this big house that we'll never get to fill with 'em."

"It makes my heart hurt when I hear you sad about things we can't change." You sigh, and you lightly brush your lips against hers.

"I guess I'm just supposin' about Pop. He's got someone to check in on him and all, and it makes me start wishin' we'd have someone like that."

"Oh." You suck in a breath, and you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. "I understand that."

"I'm bein' foolish. If we were in a real bad way, someone'd take care of us."

"I would certainly hope so, but I understand why you're bringing up that we can't have children again. I've told you before that I always assumed that I would, but I still stand by that I'd take you over any of that."

"It did feel nice though tonight, tuckin' in Robbie."

"Perhaps we could do that more often. I know that Mrs. Redding is a war widow, and if she were to need some help, I'd happily volunteer to let Robbie stay here with us whenever she needs."

"Ya would?"

"Of course I would, Brittany. The people on this island have been nothing but kind to me, and I've never really had much to give back. This is something that I can."

"You teach their children. They're more than grateful for ya, Santana."

"Still, I'd like to be part of the community. I've been here long enough now, and I'm not going anywhere."

Together, you fall asleep after your conversation. It always worries you when Brittany begins talking about babies. It seems she brings up the conversation far more than you ever do, and though you have no concerns that she'll leave you, you hope she's truly happy in a relationship where it's just not possible. You're content, truly, without them. In a lot of ways, you suppose you were never certain it was what you wanted, though you expected you'd do it. You've seen the toll so many children have taken on your mother, you've felt the anxiety of helping to raise them. For you, being with someone you love is just enough, but had that someone been a man, you'd have known what your duty was. Now, things are different. Now, you just get to love Brittany, and that makes you happier than anything in the world.

You wake with Robbie standing beside your bed. The sun has yet to rise, yet he whimpers where he stands. You can tell from years of experience that he's wet, and trying not to groan, you roll over. Before you can get up, Brittany is on her feet, and she kneels in front of him, wiping away his tears. She runs the bathtub for him, while you go to put clean sheets on the bed, balling up the soiled ones for the laundry. The bitter cold sleeps through the window, and you put an extra blanket on the spare bed, having it prepared when Brittany carries Robbie back into the room. For the second time, you tuck him in, but since you're wide awake, you send Brittany back to bed, and you go downstairs to read.

You have a fire started when Brittany comes down later, Robbie still asleep, and she makes coffee and brings it to you on the sofa. She kisses your forehead, and you smile, kissing her lips. She recognizes your contentment, and she strokes your cheek, smiling down at you. You love to see her in the morning, nightshirt twisted and hair mussed. Though the cold is so bitter you can barely think when you step out of doors, you love that it's kept her home with you. You love that the children you teach are safe at home in their warm little houses. You love that your own home feels like a cocoon. Spring will come soon, but you love the winter for this, and you smile back at Brittany.

"Sorry ya didn't go back to sleep, I know once you're woken, you're up for the day."

"It's alright, I'm glad that you did. Are you going to check on your father this morning?"

"I suppose I ought to. He didn't seem quite right yesterday when I was there. I'm scared that he's gettin' sicker."

"We could stay there, you know. Whenever you feel like the time is right."

"Pop says he still wants to be on his own. When the bay defrosts, I suppose he'll go back to captainin' the ferry. He's not one to be stopped."

"Do you think perhaps it's better that way?" You ask her. "To let him do what he loves until he simply can't anymore."

"I suppose I would. You'd probably have to pry me off my fishin' boat if I got too sick to sail it."

"You shouldn't say such things, you're far too young to worry about falling ill."

"I worry 'bout it every day, and I worry 'bout bein' alone if somethin' were to happen to you."

"You wouldn't be alone." You rub the palm of her hand with your thumb. "You have people all over this island who love you."

"Wouldn't be the same. Promise me ya will stay real healthy for me."

"My grandmother's nearly seventy, and she still leaves the apartment every day to do the shopping and see her friends. Her mother lived to be ninety-one. I can't promise I won't get sick, but I can promise that my family history shows it's unlikely."

"I don't know about how all that stuff works, but if ya say it's true, I'll believe ya."

"I wish you didn't have to worry so." You pat the sofa beside your tucked under legs, and she sits down beside you. "But I know it hasn't been easy for you."

"Seein' Pop get sicker in so short'a time's turned me into an old worrier. That's why I took in Robbie last night, seein' his mama so sick. I felt how scared he must be, knowin' I'm grown and feel near as scared."

"Oh, Britt." You cup her face in your hands and you look into her eyes. "Tell me what I can do to make it better."

"Ya already are. Cookin' for Pop, and checkin' in on me every day. Ya really are makin' it the easiest it can be for me, and I appreciate it."

"I just wish I could do more."

"I'll need ya to, when it gets worse. For now, you're doin' more than enough. He appreciates it too, he's told me so."

"Really?"

"He really likes your cookin'. He said it reminds him of my mama's, and that it's been a long while since a lady cared for him 'sides me. And I laughed when he called me a lady."

"I do see you as one, you know. A very interesting sort, but my favorite lady, nonetheless."

"Means a lot." She twists the ring on your finger, and she sighs a little. "I ought to cook up some breakfast for when the little fella wakes up. Are ya hungry?"

"I could eat a bit, but let me help you cook."

"Nah, keep on readin'. I'll fry up some eggs and bacon, and then we'll all have breakfast together in a bit."

"If you're certain."

"I am." She kisses your lips again. "Ya do an awful lot of takin' care, and this mornin', I want to be the one who does."

Robbie ends up staying with you for four days. When Mrs. Redding comes home from the hospital, her sister comes with her from the mainland, and you go with Brittany to relinquish the little boy to her care. You feel an odd sense of sadness as you let him go, but as school has reopened, you go back to work, and you turn your attention to the little ones in your care there. You think these children need a little extra, since so many scarcely know how to read, and you put your effort into it, smiling through the day as you welcome them back into your classroom.

The house is quiet when you get home, and after you put the roast in the oven, you go upstairs to put fresh sheets on the guest bed. You hum to yourself as you do, and you right the things that were messed in Robbie's stay. Once the bedroom is back in order, you go downstairs and you turn the radio on, listening as you peel potatoes. You're singing along when Brittany comes in, and she comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, kissing behind your ear. It's your favorite greeting, and you lean back into her, playing with her fingers as she breathes you in.

"I think this'll be the last real freeze." She tells you. "Spring's comin', I can feel it."

"It'll be nice to have the little girls out in the summer, won't it?"

"Perhaps your Mama will come with 'em. I know your Pop won't leave his work, but maybe…"

"I'll ask them, but with money as tight as it is, I'm not certain either of them will make the trip."

"I didn't realize."

"They're awful quiet about money, as is right. But I know my father's practice doesn't bring it what it did before he left for the war. They're catching up a bit is all, and the girl's school is awful expensive. I'm grateful my schooling afforded me the job I have, that way it proved that it's worth it."

"I'd like to see them again soon, and I know ya want to make the trip, but I'm not certain I can go just now."

"I know, you want to stay close by in case you're needed." You're not certain what else to say, you don't want to tell her that she'll see them _after,_ because that sounds awfully morbid. "My mother always asks after you in her letters, and on the phone. She's so grateful that you've given me a safe home."

"With the smell of this roast, I'd've given ya a home even if I didn't love ya."

"You're silly." You turn in her arms, and you nuzzle her nose with yours. "You look like you're aching today."

"It was an awful lotta work, we're startin' to get the boats ready for spring thaw. I could use a real nice bath with a real pretty lady."

"Could you, then?" You bite your lip to hold back your smile, and you turn down the pot of boiling potatoes.

"I've heard it's the best medicine for achin' joints."

"If it's the best medicine, then I'd have to oblige. Would you like an aspirin in the meantime?"

"I suppose so." She goes to the icebox for juice, and you take the bottle down from the cabinet above the sink. "How was your day, anyhow?"

"It was lovely. I think I'm making a bit of progress with both Johnny and Sally on their reading, and Betsy is nearly teaching the class."

"You ought to watch out, or she'll take your job away." Brittany grins, swallowing the tablet.

"I'm not certain Mr. Woodhull would be keen on hiring a nine-year old for my job, but if she's smart enough, I'd be proud of that."

"Ya should be real proud of the work ya did with all of 'em. I'm tellin' ya, Santana, there's real kind talk about ya whenever I'm down at the marina. They like ya as a teacher for the kids."

"I'm just trying to do the best job I can."

"Maybe if I had a teacher like ya when I was young, I'd have stayed in school and wouldn't still have so much trouble readin'."

"You're very good with arithmetic though, Brittany. You manage to do what you can to run a successful business."

"I'm just lucky I've always had Art around for the rest, he's real smart like you."

"I enjoy talking with him." You smile. "But I think you're incredibly smart as well. Just in a different way."

"It makes me feel real good when ya say that, since you're the smartest person I ever met."

"I feel the same about you. Look at you, you're the captain of your own boat, you fully take care of yourself, you built us this beautiful house. It amazes me every day."

"I'm real lucky I get to have ya, Santana. Ya sure do know how to make a girl blush." She rubs at her cheeks and you kiss them. "It's awful quiet here tonight."

"I'm grateful to have the quiet with you. We can go back to reading our book this evening, after our bath."

"I'll be real grateful for that. I liked hearin' ya read about Peter Rabbit, but I like our stories better."

"Because I always read you my favorites."

"Ya sure do have a lot."

"They made me believe in happy endings, before I found my own."


	25. But I Can Dream, Can't I?

When Spring finally arrives, you breathe a deep sigh of relief after what seemed to be a terminal winter. Because your students had been cooped up inside for so long, you take to bringing them outside for their lessons. Though you're not certain that Mr. Woodhull would approve, you find that children who have spent their young lives running free do better in the fresh air, and when you have them write their letters in the sand, rather than on paper, you're certain they absorb what they learn more. So you read to them in the dunes, you let them scavenge for sticks and practice arithmetic in damp sand, they tell you the names for each bird and seashell they find, and for the first time, you feel like you're making a difference in the classroom.

Brittany puts the Alcott back in the water, and you think it's good for her to be out at sea. She's had so much strain worrying about her father, but you know that when she's tired to her bones from fishing, it's easier for her to relax at night. You love your evenings with her, listening to the radio, reading, having supper together. Some evenings too, Captain Pierce comes by your house. Brittany tells him that you'll come to him, but he insists on the walk, tells her it does him good. He's getting sicker, you can see it, but he's yet to allow Brittany—and you, by default—to help care for him. He will, when the time comes, but the time is not here yet.

One evening, he comes pulling a wagon with a large chest inside. When he brings it into the house, he insists that Brittany waits until he leaves to open it. You're certain that it's a chest of her mother's things, that he's slowly beginning to go through the things in his home, but you help her set it in the corner, and you leave it there all through dinner. It's quite late when he finally leaves, having had a few beers and two helpings of dinner, but she's eager to get into the chest. So you change into your satin pajamas, and when you come back downstairs, she's brought the chest before the couch, and she sits waiting for you.

"He's clearing out my Mama's things, I suppose." She sighs heavily. "I've never gone through these before."

"Do you want to wait until morning to do it?"

"I'd rather do it now, if ya don't mind it. We could sleep late tomorrow, it's Sunday."

"I don't mind at all." You pat her hand. "Whatever you'd like to do."

"Alright then." Brittany unsnaps the clasps on the trunk. "This feels awful hard."

"I'm here with you, Brittany. I know you're going through a rough time and this doesn't make it much easier, but I'm here."

"I know ya are, and it sure does make it easier."

She opens the trunk, and carefully lifts out a stack of pictures. You look over her shoulder as she stares down at young Captain Pierce and a beautiful blonde woman. It's her parents wedding day, and it causes in ache in your heart to imagine that the young woman in the picture only got to live but a few more years. It pains you to know that she never got to watch her son grow up, that she never got to know her precious daughter at all. But you hold back your tears, because you're certain that if you cry, it'll spur Brittany on, and that's the last thing you want to do.

"Here's my brother." She shows you a picture of a newborn baby, settled in a basket. "They must have had him photographed just after he was born. Pop used't tell him that he was the apple of my Mama's eye. I sure do wish I got that chance."

"She'd have loved you an awful lot, I'm certain of it."

"I'd've probably not grown up on boats. I suppose I'd know how to read a bit better, and maybe I'd wear dresses if she'd been alive."

"I think she'd be proud of you just as you are. You certainly make your father proud."

"Pop's easy to please. I've told you before that Mama came from the city, Pop said she had the finest manners, but she fell in love with him when he came through there after the war. He asked her to marry him right away, and he brought her back here."

"I'm sure it was a difficult adjustment for her." You take a deep breath, knowing that it certainly was for you.

"I suppose so. I sure do wish Pop talked about her more."

"Perhaps now you could ask him, maybe he'd give you some more insight into her."

"I'd feel awful bad, with him being sick and all."

"I know." You squeeze her hand. "But he's the last person with a connection to her, I'd hate for you to never hear the things you're wishing so deeply to hear."

"Ya don't think that's too much on a sick man? Like I'm talkin' to him as if he's gonna die?"

"I think…" You breathe deeply, because you both know that he _is_ going to die, and it's more than just an _if._ "That he'd probably be happy to speak to his daughter about her mother."

She's quiet as she continues to go through the chest. When she lifts out a Bible, and hands it to you and you run your fingers over the gold lettering _Holy Bible._ When you open it, her mother's name is written in neat handwriting inside, _Mary Crawford,_ her name before she married the captain. You look through it slowly, though you know the words on nearly every page, but you imagine Brittany's mother reading from it, you imagine the woman that your love never got to know.

"Santana." She whispers, and you look up, seeing her holding a ring between her fingers. "I didn't know this was in here."

"Was that her wedding ring?"

"I suppose so. I thought she was buried with it, but I guess Pop kept it. When he gave me her other jewels though, he left this out."

"Perhaps he wanted to keep it until now."

"Would you rather have this than the one I gave you?"

"No." You shake your head slowly. "That should be yours."

"I don't wear any jewels ya know."

"I know, but I still think it should be for you, even if you keep it in a box beside the bed. It's the ring your father gave to your mother. If you ever choose to wear a wedding ring, it should be that one."

"Perhaps I'll wear it on a chain like ya do. I'm real scared'f losin' it though."

"I understand that." You set your hand over hers. "It's something so special."

"This whole box of things is real special." Brittany sets the ring down on the end table and lifts up the simple white dress in the chest. "She was a real tiny thing, I think. You're so small, and this wouldn't even fit ya."

"It's such a beautiful dress. She must have looked like quite a picture the day she married your father."

"She sure did look like it in the photos I've seen. I wish she were here to tell me stories. Seems real unfair to have lost my mama and my brother and now be losing my pop too."

"Perhaps you'll still have a lot more time with your father. We don't know just how bad the cancer really is."

"He's cleanin' out his house. He knows his time is comin' to an end."

"I wish I could take this pain from you." You suck in air, thinking of how you hear her cry at night, after she thinks you're asleep.

"I'll be alright. Least I'm full grown, and don't have to be sent off to live with someone else. I've got you." She closes her eyes. "It'll be real nice to go to Cherry Grove tomorrow with Davey and Kurt."

"It will." You let her change the subject, knowing her tears are close. "I'm glad Kurt hasn't chosen to marry yet."

"Maybe he'll be changin' his mind. Seems a shame to give up love for somethin' that won't make ya happy."

"He has his reasons, I suppose, but I could certainly never do it. Now that I know what love is, I can't live without it."

"I'm real glad for that."

Together, you finish going through the chest of Brittany's mother's things. When you're through, she closes up the box, and though you expect her to bring it upstairs, she doesn't. Perhaps she'll want to go through it again in the morning, and you wouldn't judge her for that. She's spent her whole life not knowing much about the woman who gave birth to her, and to finally have such treasured possessions must be cathartic in a way for her. You notice that when she stands to make her way up the stairs, she picks up the ring and takes it with her, and you make a note to buy a chain for her, the next time you can make it over to the mainland. She should have such a thing close to her, and knowing that it would symbolize the same thing that the ring you wear means to you makes your heart patter in your chest.

When you get into bed, she snuggles close to you, and you stroke her hair. It pains you how much she's been hurting since her father became ill, and all you can really do is hold her close. She falls asleep more quickly than she has been, but you find that you can't. It scares you how little comfort you'll be able to offer her when Captain Pierce's time comes, and you find yourself holding your breath as you wrack your brain thinking of ways to ease your greatest love out of her pain. You shouldn't think such things, considering he's still with you, but you find that you can't help it.

You wake the next morning and find that your bed is empty. Slowly, you make your way down the stairs, and she sits on the sofa with a cup of coffee on the end table and her mother's wedding dress between her fingers. She weeps over it, and carefully, you approach her from behind, setting your hand on her shoulder. She turns to look at you, and she sighs heavily.

"I sure do wish I could lift the sadness from my heart. I'm sorry ya have had to see me this way for so many weeks, I just don't know what to do."

"There's no need to apologize, Brittany. I'll be by your side through whatever you feel. I don't ever want you to think I won't."

"I know ya will. Ya show me that every day. I'm just longing for things I can't have, and I suppose that'll never do me well."

"It'll be good for you to take your mind off of it for a bit today. And then if you want, we can stop by your father's house when we get back."

"I think I oughta take a day off'f that. If I'm gonna dance with ya all day, I'm sure I'll be liquored up, and Pop ain't gonna want'ta see that. 'Sides, he'll be out late runnin' the ferry. Least he's still got that."

"The work's good for him, isn't it?"

"Just as much as it is for me. Ya know, it distracts my mind real good, bein' out on the water."

"I know. I'm glad you have that."

"Ya distract my mind real good too. I feel sorry I haven't been up for lovin' ya right much these days."

"Your physical love for me is only a small fraction of the love you show for me each day." You kiss her forehead and you tuck a lock of hair that's fallen loose from her braid behind her ear. "When you feel up for it, it will still be there."

"Ya sure are somethin' else. I'm sure havin' a husband would be real different than havin' a wife. I'd have to do my wifely duties, whether I felt right in the head or not."

"Don't speak of such things." You shake your head. "It isn't right that anyone should have to, and I'd never expect for you to do something when your mind and body wasn't in it."

"I'll feel right again soon enough. I just gotta get used to the idea of Pop bein' sick."

"Take all the time you need, love. Let me be a shoulder for you, when you need to lean. How about I make some breakfast, hmm?"

"If ya don't mind doin' it, I'd like a bit more time with my mama's things."

You softly kiss her lips and leave her to what she needs to do, while you go in the kitchen to begin scrambling eggs and frying bacon. If she plans to drink in excess today, you'd like to at least be certain that she has a good meal in her stomach. You're just taking the toast out of the oven and buttering it when she comes into the kitchen and sinks into a chair. Breakfast is a silent affair, and you realize how much you miss her whistling as you taste your eggs and watch her poke her fork into them. She'll get back, your certain of it, but for now, you'll let her stew as much as she needs.

She helps you clean up the breakfast dishes, and then you go upstairs to dress. You've chosen a green dress to wear to Cherry Grove, and she takes out her best shirt and pants. She looks so beautifully dapper in her suspenders, and you give her a soft kiss on the neck, glad that for the afternoon, you can leave your ring on your finger instead of sliding it onto the chain around your neck. The last time you had gone dancing with Brittany, you were so afraid of how intense you felt for her, but now here you are, living in the home she built for you, feeling so secure in the love you share.

"Ya look beautiful." Brittany whispers, stroking the side of your face.

"So do you, Brittany."

"It'll be real nice to dance with ya outside of our house today."

"I'm glad there's a place for it, that's for certain."

You take the long walk to the docks, and by the time you arrive, David is waiting in his dinghy. Brittany hops down onto the boat and offers her hand to help you board. You sit next to her on the wooden plank, and David directs his vessel to pick up Kurt from where he lives down the island. The atmosphere becomes jovial when he's on board, and you can feel some of the tension that has built up in Brittany over the past weeks finally subside.

"Sure is a beautiful day, ain't it?" David asks, tying off the boat at the dock where you'll disembark.

"Nicest we've had all year." Brittany nods, offering her hand again to help you stand. "And my gal looks pretty as a picture."

"Ya look real nice too, Kurt." David blushes as he says it, and Kurt's smile beams.

Brittany holds your hand as you walk to the bar, and it might be your favorite thing about being in a place where you can be yourself. Here, you don't have to pretend she's just your friend, here, you don't have to walk by her side without her fingers laced through yours. It's one of the most freeing feelings for you, and you lean into her, savoring every moment of it.

"Ya want a drink?" She asks when you get up to the bar, and you nod slowly.

"Scotch and soda, please."

"Two Scotch and sodas." Brittany tells the bartender, and you smile at her, squeezing her hand. "Ya really do look pretty. I like ya in green."

"You tell me that no matter what color I wear." You laugh, and she hands you the drink from the bartender.

"Well then maybe I just like ya is all. Care to sit outside for awhile?"

"Anything you'd like today, Brittany. I just want you to be happy."

"I'm gonna try to be happy for today." She pays for your drinks, and she ushers you out back. "It's a nice reprieve here from the reality of everything back home."

"It certainly feels different here, where we're freer. I was once so afraid to see two women dancing together, and now here we are."

"Dance with me then, we can still hear the music out here."

"Of course." You set your drink down on the railing of the deck, and you step into Brittany's arms, letting her lead you.

"Ya always keep up with me."

"I always feel like I fit just right in your arms."

"Hmm." She nuzzles your neck a little, and your skin flushes at the wanton public display of affection, even as you're off on your own on the back deck. "It's like we were made for each other."

"I've always been certain that God had a plan for each of us. I just never imagined that his plan for me would be you."

"Ya think God planned this? Even with all the sinnin' and stuff?"

"I was taught that God planned each and every thing, and I can't believe any differently when it comes to you. I can't see love as a sin, because it's too beautiful a thing."

For a long while, you just dance. You continue to let her lead you, and she does, even as more couples come out onto the deck, and you have to share your space. You're not shy in her arms as you once were, and you smile when you see David leading Kurt in their own dance, and you hope so deeply that their love won't be torn apart by convention. When you break from dancing, you finish your drinks, and you let Brittany buy you a second round. She's always like that, she prefers to pay, and you don't argue with her, you just simply smile and flush as she hands you another drink, feeling the buzz of liquor go to your head.

"Are ya feeling alright?" She asks, steadying you with her sure grasp.

"Just fine." You smile, though you lean a little more heavily on her. "I'm so very glad we're here."

"Once upon a time I wished more than anything in the world for ya to say that here."

"I loved you even then." You tell her, very somberly, and she gently strokes your cheek.

"I knew it. But it still feels real good to get to show ya off. Here, everyone gets to know you're my gal."

"And everyone gets to know you're mine. I really love when you dress in your fancy trousers."

"Ya don't wish I was wearin' a dress?"

"I'd never wish that from you. I love you for exactly who you are. When you wear a dress, you fidget. I prefer you to be comfortable in your clothing."

"I sure am comfortable like this. I don't know how ya walk around all day in those stockings and dresses and heels, it sure is tiring to me."

"I'm used to it." You laugh, and you take a long sip of your drink before your fingers weave through hers. "I shouldn't drink so much today, I'll have to be fresh for school in the morning."

"Wouldn't do for the teacher to have a headache, would it? I suppose this ought to be your last. Davey'll want to get on home before too long anyway. He never likes to stay too late."

You dance again, once you finish your drink, and Brittany was right about David. He's sober as a judge, but you're a bit tipsy, and Brittany and Kurt are more drunk than you are, so David takes charge of getting you all back to where you belong. When you disembark his boat, you wish to hold Brittany's hand, but you know you're right in the center of Leja Beach and you can't make that sort of scene, so you settle for walking close by her side until you've said your goodbyes to David and you're far enough down the beach that no one will see you.

"As much fun as I had today, I can't wait to get ya alone." Brittany tells you, swinging your hands between you.

"Really?" You ask, surprised, since you'd just spoken about her struggle for physical intimacy with her sadness the night before.

"Really. Bein' with ya like this today made me feel happier than I have in a long time, and I'd like to lay naked with ya tonight."

"My body is always yours, Brittany." You bring your joined hands to your lips and kiss the back of yours. "As is my heart and my soul."

When you get back to the house, you go about wrapping leftovers in foil and heating them for dinner, though you feel the crackle of Brittany's want for you in the air as you do. You eat listening to the radio, and then, when you're though, you go upstairs to change into your pajamas and brush out your hair. Brittany finds you there, sitting at the vanity with a hairbrush in your hand, and she places her palm on your shoulder, still fully clothed. She lets it linger there for awhile before she changes into her own nightclothes, and then you meet across the bed, eyes meeting.

She likes to touch you in your nightgown. It's something you noticed about her a long time back, and when you lie down on the bed, she palms your breasts over the soft fabric and kisses your neck. When she does that, she makes you feel so wanted, like she can't keep her hands off of you, and you feel your legs fall open, letting her find a place to kneel between them. You're not certain what she wants tonight, but you'll give her all of it, whether she wants to touch you or be touched herself. When you bring your hands to wrap around her neck, she leans down and kisses your lips before unwrapping them and bringing them to rest at your sides while she plays with the hem of your nightgown.

"I'm not gonna kiss ya down there tonight, I just wanna lay on top'f ya and feel ya with my fingers, if that's alright."

"Whatever you'd like." You murmur into the skin of her shoulder. "But I'd love if I could touch you back."

"Perhaps when I'm done." She finds you bare beneath your nightgown, and she lets her fingers linger before spreading you wide. "But first I need to feel ya."

She props herself up enough that she has the leverage with her arm, but her body is partially pressed up against yours, and her loose hair curtains your face. There's a sort of desperation in her eyes as she drags her fingers through you and finds the place to enter. It's been such a good amount of time that she's touched you like this that you're certain the pleasure won't last long before you're overcome, but you try to stave it off, you try to give her the chance to touch you the way she'd like. She kisses you as she does, and the knot coils tighter and tighter in your stomach until you explode and see stars, and she moves more gently, not wanting to hurt you when you're most sensitive.

You're both still in your nightgowns when you find your breath again, and you ease her onto her back, wanting to pleasure her with your mouth. She loves so much to make you feel pleasure that many times she doesn't let you do the same in return for her, but tonight, as she's still a bit tipsy from the Scotch she drank, she lets you raise up her nightgown and pepper kisses on her stomach before you move lower and let your tongue move against her. She weaves her fingers through your hair, and you smile against her as she softly whimpers and calls out your name.

"I love you." She whispers. "I love you, I love you."

When you feel her tremble and spasm, you look up, and you see that her eyes are filled with tears. You're torn between stopping what you're doing immediately and continuing, but she holds you by your hair, so you know the choice she wants you to make. When her grip loosens though, you crawl up her body and gather her into her arms, letting the wracking sobs overcome her as you hold her close to your chest.

"It hurts how much I love ya." She sobs. "The ones I love are so easily lost, and if I lost ya, I wouldn't be able to go on."

"You're not going to lose me, Brittany. I'm right here, right here in your arms."

"I've been fearful about it since I first learned about Pop. I'm scared'f losin' him, but I'm scared'f not havin' ya even more."

"Brittany." You prop your head up on your hand and look into her swimming blue eyes. "I'm healthy as can be, I won't have a child I could be lost bearing, you'll have me for years to come."

"I'm sorry I'm cryin'. Ya made me feel real good, and now I'm blubberin' like a baby."

"It's okay to cry, my love. You've been so strong through all the fear you've had to encounter. You don't always have to be strong in my presence."

"I want to be though. I love bein' your lady knight in shining armor."

"You'll always be that for me, but that doesn't mean you have to suppress your emotions. I know how strong you are, and sometimes strength means letting your emotions out."

"How do ya always know the right thing to say?"

"I certainly don't. I've struggled to find the right words to say to you since we found out about your father."

"I don't think he'll last much longer on the ferry. He looks sicker every day."

"I know, I've noticed." You nod, and you kiss her forehead.

"I want to wish it all away."

"I want that too. If I could make any wish in the world, it would be that he were better."

"Maybe if we wish together, then it'll work."

"Oh, Brittany." You sigh, wiping her tears. "Perhaps it will."


	26. The Future's Brighter When Hearts Are Li

The end of the school year comes faster than you would have expected, and you find yourself teary eyed when you say goodbye to your students for the summer. When you come back in the fall, they'll have grown so much, and you hope the ones who have grown to love learning will keep it up over the summer. You know everyone is busy on the island, but perhaps they'll find time to read, perhaps they'll find time to practice their arithmetic, and perhaps you'll see them around as you start your months without work to do.

Brittany was right about her father leaving his job. You can't imagine how much it pains him to do it, but the two of you ride together on his last ferry trip to be there to support him. He's done it since he wasn't much older than you, but you can see in his eyes the way his health is failing. It's not safe for anyone for him to continue, and you just hope that he can live out the rest of his life in comfort, something you're sure you'll help him do when he finally asks Brittany for assistance.

In a break from the deep sadness that has settled over your home, Brittany suggests that you invite the little girls out to celebrate your birthday. You hadn't thought much of that with everything else going on, but it's been so long since you've seen them, and when you make certain with Brittany that she's really okay with company, you call your mother and you insist on paying their train fare out to see you. You invite her and your father as well, but she tells you that as much as she'd love to see you, it's just impossible for them to get away. You understand it, truly, but you still feel a pang of homesickness in your heart when you hear that she won't be with you as you celebrate the start of your twenty-first year.

While Brittany works out on the Alcott, you clean the house from top to bottom. With how busy things have been, you hadn't had time to do the deep spring cleaning you would have liked, so you air out the rugs, you scrub the windows, you wax the floors, and you put clean sheets on the bed where the little girls will sleep. They've always been such a balm to your soul, and you hope that they'll be the same for Brittany when you need it most.

Because they're out of school, your mother sends them out to you on a morning train, and you take the ferry over yourself to pick them up at the train station. The taxi waits for you as you collect them from the train, both Concetta holding Mariana's hand as Carlotta carries a brown paper bag to her chest. Before you help Concetta with the valise, you scoop your little sisters into your arms and you hold them close until Carlotta expresses concern that you're going to squash her precious parcel. Laughing, you kiss her forehead, and you usher the three of them into the back of the taxi.

"Why's Britt-any not here, Santana?" Mariana asks, looking up at you with her big brown eyes.

"We're going to watch Brittany come in on the Alcott today, _bebé._ She shouldn't be in long after we arrive."

"Can we go on her boat?" Carlotta asks, eyes wide.

"I'm not sure that'll happen today, Nina. Her crew will be awfully busy when they come in, and it's not the safest place for little girls. Did you know that I've never even been on Brittany's boat?"

"But why? Why?" Concetta shakes her head in disbelief.

"Because Brittany works on her boat the way Papa works in his office. Just as we're not meant to bother him, I try not to bother Brittany."

The girls ask question after question as you board the ferry and all through the trip back, but they grow silent when you arrive on the dock. The strain their little eyes watching the horizon for Brittany, and you finally make them sit down on a bench for fear that their excited jumping will land one of them in the water. You see the Alcott first, and when you point it out to them, they squeal in pure joy. Their adoration for Brittany fills your heart, and you squeeze Mariana's little hand, telling her that you feel quite the same joy that she does.

"It'll take her a bit of time, girls. We need to sit patiently and wait."

"She's going to be so excited to see us!" Carlotta says authoritatively.

"That she certainly is. She's been very much looking forward to your arrival."

"What are we going to do for your birthday tomorrow, Santana?" Concetta asks.

"Brittany and I have planned a beach picnic. Now that the weather is warm, we'll be able to swim in the ocean."

"Even me?" Mariana's eyes widen, and you nod, kissing the crown of her head.

"I couldn't ask for anything more than having the three of you to visit me." You tell them, though the one other thing you could have wished was to see your mother and father.

"Mama sent you special surprises." Mariana whispers, and Concetta and Carlotta both hush her.

"Not yet, Mari!"

"Shh, it's alright, I'll just pretend I haven't heard a thing."

You let the girls get closer to the boat as Brittany waves to them from on deck. The four of you watch as she cleans things up, and finally, she comes down, carrying what you know is a large bass wrapped in newsprint. You shake your head a little at her and smile, knowing the little girls will get such joy out of watching her prepare it for dinner, and she just grins from ear to ear.

"It's my three favorite little girls! How are ya?"

"We're here, Britt-any!" Mariana claps her hands, pulling free of your hold.

"I see that." She ruffles their hair, and gives your arm a quick brush with her fingers. "I caught some real big fish today, and I thought I'd bring ya all home one for supper!"

"We're gonna eat one of the fish you caught?" Concetta asks, looking to you for confirmation.

"Sure are! And I'm gonna need some real help cleanin' her up if anyone wants t'help me!"

"I do! I do!" Mariana jumps up and down, and Brittany quickly ushers her away from the edge of the dock.

"Come on now, let's get on home and ya all can come outside with me."

Brittany insists upon carrying the valise along with the fish, and you take Carlotta's brown paper bag from her when you reach the beach. You're certain the walk home will be a long one, knowing how they like to stop and gather shells, but that's alright. You delight in their joy, and the genuine smile on Brittany's face gives you a sense of peace you haven't felt in months. Together you walk behind them as they carry their shoes in their hands and fill them up with stones and shells and seaglass, and she gives you a look, telling you that she feels the same joy you do.

When you finally arrive at home, you bring their valise upstairs and insist that they all change into play dresses before going outside to help Brittany. While you do that, she gets her knives ready and leaves the fish on her cleaning table outside. The girls tumble down the stairs in their play dresses, but while Mariana and Concetta rush outside, you find Carlotta in the kitchen looking around for the bag you'd carried home for her.

"Santana, Mama said to make sure you put those things in the ice box."

"Okay, love. I can manage that. Why don't you go outside and enjoy yourself while I get the rest of our supper ready?"

"Then you have to be inside all alone."

"Oh, Nina, that's alright. I don't want you to miss out on the fun out there. It's a real sight to watch Brittany break down a fish."

"Are you sure?" She asks, looking so much bigger than you can ever remember, and you squeeze her hand.

"I'm certain. Go on out, we'll have plenty of time together this evening."

After you get her to scamper outside, you empty the bag from your mother. You smile as you feel her tamales wrapped in foil, the glass container of rice and beans, and the box that you know contains the _tres leches_ cake she's made every year for your birthday. It's just like her to send these things with the little ones, and you know that you have to make certain amidst all the fun you have prepared for the little girls to use the phone at the Karofskys' house. It'll certainly be easier when your house is finally wired for its own phone, but for now, you make do with calling your mother from there and with writing her the letters you dutifully send every week.

You finish slicing potatoes to fry when Brittany comes in with the fish filets. She's a mess, as she always is after a day's work, but with the girls still outside, she kisses you on the lips and murmurs that she loves you. You simply smile and say the words in return before telling her that she can go bathe and you'll call the girls inside to help you set the table.

"I feel real good havin' 'em here. Gives me somethin' to take my mind off everything."

"I know. They're certainly good for that."

"Make sure ya have Mariana wash her hands. She insisted upon touchin' the fish, and I find I can't say no to her."

"They could all do to wash their hands." You laugh. "Especially before they sit down for dinner."

"I'll be down real soon, just want to get the grime off'a me and put on some fresh clothes."

"It'll be a bit before the fish and potatoes fry, take your time."

"I'd rather go quickly, get back down to ya all."

"Alright then." You smile and steal another kiss. "I'll see you shortly."

Once Brittany is up the stairs, you call the girls back inside. You begin frying the fish and potatoes while they carefully set the table, Carlotta proudly carrying the dishes, Concetta folding the napkins, and Mariana placing the silverware at each place. You love how comfortable they are in your home, and when Brittany comes back down, the three of them sit expectantly at the table. Brittany pours milk for them, and you take the food out of the frying pan and set it on each plate. When you finally sit, you're overwhelmed with the love in the room, and you squeeze Brittany's hand beneath the table.

"Santana!" Mariana cries excitedly, her mouth full of fish. "Are you gonna read us the peppers book tonight?"

"You remember that, huh?" You smile, thinking of how long it's been since you started them on _The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew._ "I think we can definitely read some tonight, but we may need to refresh your memories a bit since it's been so long."

"I can do it!" Concetta grins. "I remember everything from it."

"I sure do like that book." Brittany nods. "Mind if I listen in again?"

"We'd certainly love that. Perhaps Carlotta and Concetta would like to read a bit of it to us too."

"We like when you do it best, Santana." Carlotta furrows her brow. "We get to read books to Mariana all the time at home, but only when we're here do we get to hear you read to us."

"Okay." You chuckle. "I'll do the reading tonight then."

After three little bellies are full and the kitchen is cleaned up from supper, you turn on the radio and Brittany takes Sorry down from the shelf. Because there's only enough room for four players, you sit out, helping Mariana when she needs it. The bigger girls could play the game for hours, but as it gets darker outside, you know that you shouldn't keep them up too late or else they'll be tired in the morning, so you usher them upstairs to change into their nightgowns. Once their hands and faces are washed and their teeth are brushed, you tuck them into the guest bed and you sit on the edge reading from their book until Mariana can scarcely keep her eyes open. You kiss their heads and place the book on the nightstand before you turn out the lights and shut the door behind yourself and Brittany.

"Should we sit outside tonight?" You asks, and she nods.

"I put the chairs out on our balcony, that way we'll be close enough t'hear the girls if they need us."

She takes your hand as you walk out onto the small balcony that overlooks the ocean, and you sit down in her lap in one of the chairs. She wraps her arms around your midsection and you lay your head against her chest, feeling the way her fingers tickle your lower back. The hum of the ocean is soothing, and you clothes your eyes, breathing in both Brittany's scent and the smell of the ocean, two things that aren't much different to you.

"Shoulda known I only needed one chair out here. I love it when ya sit in my lap."

"I know." You kiss her neck and settle deeper into her embrace. "There's nowhere I feel safer."

"How do ya feel about it bein' your birthday tomorrow?"

"I think I already feel more grown than twenty-one. When I turned eighteen, I felt so young compared to my friends who were courting to be married, but since I came here, I've grown considerably."

"Ya always seemed older than your years to me. 'Specially when I see ya with the little ones. They see ya like a mama."

"It's just the product of being much older than them, I supposed when they're grown they'll see me more as a sister."

"Perhaps one of 'em'll end up livin' out here. They all seem to like it."

"They were disappointed they couldn't go on the Alcott today. They're all so curious about what it is you do."

"Perhaps the next time they come out, I can make it happen. I'll just have t'clean it up a bit, make it more suitable for you and the little ones."

"They'd understand if they can't go on, I explained to them that it's where you work, and they know from my father's office that sometimes it's off limits."

"I'd just like to make 'em happy. They sure do make me feel that way."

"It feels good to see you smile so much."

"I told Pop I wouldn't be comin' around this weekend. I think he understands that I need a bit of a break from it, selfish as that sounds."

"I don't think it's selfish at all, Brittany. You need to care for yourself as well, and sometimes that care is swimming in the ocean with three little girls who adore you."

"Ya really think they adore me?"

"They're completely besotted. Each and every time they see you, they love you more. And trust me, I can understand why. You really are wonderful with them."

"I loved teachin' 'em about cleanin' a fish. The big girls weren't so sold on it, but Mariana'd do it herself if she could."

"You'll have to keep showing her things, maybe my mother and father will have a little fishergirl on their hands."

"I'd be so proud'f that. I've never known anyone to want to grow up and do what I do."

"Well from what I've heard, you're the best captain there is."

"The boys are just messin' around. They do as much work on the Alcott as I do."

"But it's yours, and I feel such a sense of pride for what it is you do." You kiss her softly on the lips. "You're certain it's okay that you stay home tomorrow?"

"Davey'll keep things under control for me. I can't miss your birthday picnic."

"My mother sent dinner for us for tomorrow as well. Tamales and rice and beans and _tres leches_ cake."

"Ya must be real excited, I know ya miss your mama's cooking."

"I do. Carlotta was so sweet, she was guarding it with her life. She didn't even want Mariana to spoil the surprise for me, so although I saw what she packed when I put it away, I'll pretend to be surprised tomorrow." You tell her, and then you yawn, surprised by how tired you are.

"Are ya ready for bed?"

"Maybe so. We'll have a busy day tomorrow."

When you go back inside, you change into your nightgown, and you curl up into Brittany's arms in bed. As you lay falling asleep, you think of your great big grown up life. You think of the ring on the chain between your breasts, you think of the house you live in, you think of your job as a teacher, and mostly, you think of the woman who holds you in her arms. At twenty-one, you've done more than you expected, especially because before you came to Fire Island, you'd expected to be an old maid living with your mother and father and caring for them into their old age, but now here you are, out on your own, and in a deeper love than you ever could have imagined.

The house is still quiet when you wake in the morning, and you smile, thinking that the salt air managed to tire the little girls out so much that they've slept in. You feel Brittany stir beside you, and before you can say a word, she pulls you in closer to her and kisses the top of your head, then moves down to your lips, letting her kiss linger there for a long while.

"Happy birthday to my best gal. I sure do love ya."

"Thank you, Brittany. I love you too."

"I gotcha somethin'." She rolls over and opens the drawer to her nightstand. "I know ya told me I shouldn't."

"You give me too much. A birthday gift was unnecessary."

"It's just somethin' small. I was lookin' around to see if anything jumped out at me, and this reminded me of ya." She hands you a tiny box and carefully you open it. Inside is a tiny anchor, a charm for your bracelet, and you look up at her, awaiting the explanation that you know she has. "I think about ya bein' my anchor. When the seas are rough and we're out on the Alcott, we drop anchor to be safe, but when I'm home and things are rough, 'specially as they've been these months, I always find myself lookin' for ya. I wanted ya to know how much I appreciate that."

"This is beautiful, and so is your reason behind it. I love how you add charms to my bracelet too."

"I like gettin' ya pretty things. I don't know how to pick a new book for ya, but I think I'm good at findin' things like this."

"You are." You kiss her softly, thinking that any gift is too much, considering what she already gives you. "And I appreciate it so deeply."

"You're my lady, I gotta make sure ya have everythin' you deserve."

"You're something else, Brittany Pierce."

Before you have much more time with Brittany, you hear voices in the next room, and you pull yourself out of bed. Carefully, you hook your new charm onto your bracelet and settle it back into your jewelry box. Though you'd normally get dressed, considering you'll be putting on your swimsuit to go to the beach, you pull your robe around you and you go in to check on the girls. Concetta is still sleeping, but Carlotta whispers to Mariana, who hops off the bed when she sees you enter the room.

"It's your birthday, Santana!" She shouts, making Concetta stir. "It's your birthday!"

"It is, love." You laugh, and scoop her up into a hug. "Why don't we go downstairs and start breakfast while Concetta wakes up?"

"'M up." She mumbles. "Happy birthday, Santana."

"Yeah! Happy birthday!" Carlotta runs to hug you, and you gather her in your free arm.

Leaving Concetta to grumble her way into a state of wakefulness, you go downstairs with Carlotta and Mariana. Brittany already has the frying pan on the stove and the eggs on the counter and she hands you a cup of coffee and urges you to sit down while she cooks. The girls help her to set the table, and by the time Concetta stumbles down the stairs, Brittany is taking the toast out of the oven and filling each plate with scrambled eggs.

Each of the girls give you beautiful homemade birthday cards that you'll cherish for a long time, and when breakfast is through, you insist on doing the dishes while everyone goes upstairs to get ready for the beach. You pack cold chicken and cheese in the picnic basket, and you take out a thermos full of lemonade before you go upstairs to change as well. You'd bought a new swimsuit, and Brittany grins at you as she watches you change into it, making you flush with heat as you shake your head at her, appreciating your own view of her in her own as well.

Brittany carries the basket and you carry a blanket and an umbrella as you make your way down the stairs, and you spread everything out close enough to the water to get to cool breeze, but far enough away that you won't be soaked by the waves. The girls are eager to get into the water, and not wanting them in there alone, you take Carlotta and Concetta's hands while Brittany lifts Mariana into her arms. They squeak and squeal at the water, still cold from the winter, but you relish the feeling of it on your skin in the hot sun.

It's a gloriously perfect day, and Mariana falls asleep on a blanket under the umbrella. You sit beside her and read as Brittany builds sandcastles with the older girls. You can't help but look up every so often, the sight of her with them always warming your heart, and the three of them grin at you and wave, never losing their focus on the array of castles spread out before them. When Mariana wakes, she joins them, but you continue to watch, laughing at the wild tales Brittany tells them, and their excited reactions.

Though you hadn't expected to stay down so long on the sand, when the sun begins to sink low in the sky, you usher everyone back up the stairs. While you steam the tamales and heat the rice and beans, you send the girls to bathe, and once they and Brittany are through, you take your own turn before coming down sunkissed and warm in proper clothes for dinner. You bring it out on the porch, though you lack a table there, and the five of you sit with plates in your lap, excitedly reveling in the events of the day.

"You're terribly red, Brittany." You gently press your thumb into her forearm and frown.

"It's not often I'm out without my sleeves and my hat." She shrugs. "It's alright, it'll be gone in a few days. I'll break the aloe vera plant tonight and rub it on."

"I hope that'll help, I'd hate for you to be uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable in the slightest. I've had the best day with all my best gals."

"Even me, Britt-any?" Mariana asks, snuggling into her side and yawning.

"Of course even you, Miss. Someone's gettin' sleepy again."

"Gotta stay awake to have the cake Mama made." She quickly covers her mouth. "Sorry Carlotta."

"'S alright. Mama didn't say we had to keep it a surprise, I just thought it would be nice."

"I'm very surprised by all of this, Carlotta. Thank you for bringing these things so carefully to me."

"Mama put me in charge because I'm biggest, but Concetta helped when it got too heavy."

"Just a little." Concetta nods.

"Well, having you all here has made this the most lovely birthday. I'm so terribly grateful for it."

After clearing the dishes from your laps, Brittany brings out the cake with a lit candle, and you sit back smiling as they sing to you. It's as delicious as you remember, and you eat your entire slice before you lift Mariana from where she's collapsed in exhaustion on the porch and carry her upstairs. The bigger girls don't argue going to bed either, and follow you up the stairs, getting in bed on either side of the baby. Brittany comes into listen as you read _The Five Little Peppers_ in a whisper so as not to wake the baby, but Concetta and Carlotta are sound asleep before you finish a chapter.

"I feel about as tuckered out as them." Brittany tells you as you shut out the lights and close the door.

"We ought to put some of that aloe vera on your back as well as your front before you go to sleep. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm a bit more uncomfortable than I made it out in front'f the little ones. We were out in that sun for an awful long time."

"And your skin is so fair. Come here." You wait until she undoes her shirt in the bedroom, and you snap the plant that sits on your dresser for this exact reason, waiting for the insides to ooze out onto your hand so you can rub it into her skin."

"Sure feels nice and cool. Thank ya for puttin' it on me."

"Of course." You nod, gesturing for her to turn around so you can put it on her chest and face. "Good?"

"Real good." She yawns. "Sorry I'm fallin' asleep on your birthday."

"It's been one of the best birthdays I've ever had, and I'm terribly tired as well." You change into your nightgown, and you sit on the edge of the bed. "Thank you for all you've done."

"I didn't do much, just went on with the plans ya wanted to have."

"I know. But that meant everything to me, and it means the world to see you smile."

"Hard not to on such a good day. I'm real glad we had it."

"Me too, Brittany. Me too."


	27. Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away

After the little girls go back to the city, you look for ways to occupy yourself as the summer carries on. Without work to do, and with Brittany out on the Alcott all day, you find yourself bored for the first time in your life. Your mother always told you that you should never be bored, so it takes you by surprise, and you read more books in a short period of time than you ever have before. You spend your days near the ocean with your books, and you cook and clean because it's all you can do to keep from getting a bit stir crazy inside the house.

When Independence Day comes, you're beside yourself thinking about the festivities that will ensue. Last year, you had gone back to the city to see your family, so you hadn't been around for the big picnic, but this year you'll be here, and you persistently pester Brittany, making sure she tells Mrs. Karofsky that you want to help in any way you can. It's usually the older women who put on the picnic though, and all Mrs. Karofsky will let you do is make potato salad, telling Brittany that you should enjoy yourself like all of the other young people will.

Brittany is really excited about it. Her father promised that he was well enough to be outside enjoying the party, and that was enough to put some pep in Brittany's step. Though you're not certain what to expect at the picnic, having never gone to anything like this, each night before bed Brittany tells you that it's her favorite event of the year, that she can't wait for her baseball team to win the game, and that she can't wait to lie on a blanket under the stars and listen to the boys shoot off firecrackers to celebrate the birth of the United States of America, and this year, the end of the war.

When you wake up on Independence Day, Brittany is already dressed in ironed britches and a bright blue shirt. You laugh, watching her braid her long hair and you quickly wash up before slipping into your red polka dotted dress and tying a blue scarf into your hair. When you'd lived in the city, Independence Day was much like any other, but here, you feel a great desire to be as festive as everyone else, and you kiss Brittany on the lips before you go downstairs to make the coffee and breakfast before you head out for the day.

"Davey convinced Kurt to come on out to the picnic. I'm certain he knows somethin' ain't right." Brittany tells you as she sits down with her cup of coffee.

"I just don't think he's going to marry, Brittany. I know he spoke about it last year, but when we went to Cherry Grove he seemed so happy in David's company."

"I sure hope so. I like that fella, but I don't want t'see Davey get hurt."

"I know." You nod. "Perhaps they ought to be bachelor roommates. If Kurt moves out of his father's house then perhaps there will be less pressure on him to marry."

"That sounds like an awful good idea. Your Pop's fine with ya bein' here since ya work for your living and ya got a place to live. He might not be so keen on ya not marryin' if ya lived home."

"I think there'd be a certain expectation for me, you're right, though I doubt he'd force it. David works on the Alcott, Kurt does the books at the grocery store, there's no reason the two couldn't board together. Though I don't think it's our place to push that on them."

"I know ya must be right, but…"

"We really shouldn't meddle, Brittany."

"I know, I know." She shrugs. "Coffee's real good this morning."

"I made it the same as always." You laugh, taking a sip from your mug.

"Well it always tastes better'n mine."

After breakfast, you pack the potato salad, a picnic blanket and a thermos of lemonade into your basket, and together you and Brittany leave the house. She holds your hand for awhile as you walk on the beach, and even when people begin to come into sight she walks close to you, letting her fingers tickle the back of your hand every so often. The sun is bright, the ocean is blue, and it's the most beautiful day you could imagine for everyone to get together.

Brittany leads you up into the pine grove and you're surprised that in the time you've been on the island, you've never seen the hidden park that lies inside of it. It seems that everyone you've seen since you've come to live in this place is setting up, spreading blankets and lining up charcoal grills on the outskirts of the baseball field. It's certainly not what you imagined, you'd assumed that you'd spend the day on the beach, but you assume that will come later, when the young boys light firecrackers away from the trees that can catch on fire. For now though, the coolness of the shaded grove is nice, and you help Brittany to spread your blanket out over the pine needles, waving to Mrs. Karofsky as she catches a glimpse of you.

"Suppose you'll win this year?" Arthur rolls over to you both, and you smile widely at him.

"We will if I've got anythin' to say about it. Ya gonna be cheerin' us on, right?"

"Nowhere else I'd be, except of course for playing…"

"I'm sorry ya can't, Art. Ya know, if ya change your mind, I'll push your chair 'round the bases myself."

"Nah, my Mama wouldn't be happy with it, and I try my best to keep her from hysterics these days. Santana'll keep me company watching the game, right?"

"Of course." You smile. "I'll even share our lemonade with you."

"Well I know for certain that there's nothing you make that isn't the best, so I'll count myself lucky for that opportunity."

"Pop's here." Brittany waves to her father, and you turn to see him standing there, so much thinner even then last time you saw him. "Glad he's made it out today. I'll let him make his rounds before I start buggin' him."

"Are you alright?" You murmur just quiet enough that only she can hear you, knowing that every time she sees him triggers an anxious reaction.

"Yeah, just fine. He's out, he's havin' a good day."

"He is. It's certainly stunning weather for it too."

"Hey, Cap!" Michael comes over with his girlfriend…Tina, you think her name is close beside him. "Ya ready for this?"

"We ought to warm up." Brittany shakes herself out of her headspace and grins at the gathering group of men. "Davey, ya got the bats?"

"Got 'em, Cap! We're gonna show the guys from the shop a thing or two about how to play ball."

"Ya sure you're okay here?" Brittany asks you, letting her hand quickly brush over your arm. "I'd let ya play if ya wanted to."

"You go on. While you warm up, I'm going to see if Mrs. Karofsky needs any help, and then I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines."

You fight the urge to give Brittany a kiss and you take the potato salad from your basket and head over to where Mrs. Karofsky works, leaving Tina and Arthur in conversation. She pulls you in for a tight hug, and then she sends you to work, having you help Mary Ellen shuck corn. There's such an array of foods on blocks of ice, and you're stunned as men bring charcoal grills down and begin the process of lighting them. There will still be plenty of time before you eat, as the baseball game is a highlight of the day, but everyone gets ready, and you're awestruck.

After you're shucked more corn than you can imagine possible, you see Captain Pierce approaching you. You still haven't figured out quiet how to behave around him, but he sits down on the bench beside you and grabs an ear of corn, pulling off the husk in one quick stroke. You smile and him and he grabs another, putting you to shame as he does it.

"Used to do this with Brittany and Willy when they were little. We sure did eat a lotta corn in those days, 'cause it was one of the few vegetables I knew how to make."

"That certainly explains why Brittany likes it so much then. I cook it quite a lot."

"Corn, beans, any kinda fish I could get my hands on. That's what she grew up on."

"She recently taught my little sisters how to filet a fish. I'm sure she told you they came to visit."

"She sure did, when she brought on over some of that pork ya made. Must be nice havin' the life of the little ones in your house, I sure do miss it now that it's so quiet 'round my place."

"I'm surprised you miss the noise." You flush, hoping you didn't speak out of turn. "It must have been difficult raising two children on your own."

"They were good kids, took to explorin' on their own. They may not be the most learned, like my wife, God rest her soul, would have wanted, but they could fend for themselves. And then they always came home at supper time and helped me cook the meal."

"If I may say so, Captain Pierce, while I didn't know your son, I think you did a wonderful job of raising Brittany."

"She's got a spirit, that gal, she never did anything how's expected, but she's my greatest joy. Couldn't get on without her these days either."

"She's willing to give you more time, if you need it, and I'd be happy to spend more time with you as well, as I'm off for the summer and spend most of my days just reading."

"Ya are welcome to come on down to my house anytime. I don't wanna be an imposition on anyone, but if ya want company durin' the day, I'll have ya."

"I'd like that a lot, sir." You nod, thinking that perhaps this is his own way of indicating that he needs more help than he'd like to ask for. "Thank you for the invitation."

Captain Pierce moves along and you move on to the next task Mrs. Karofsky gives you to do. You like that you've been able to be useful and you think she appreciates that you've offered as well. When there's noise about the game starting, everything seems to stop, and you take the seat Tina saved for you on the bleachers, watching as Brittany swaggers out to the pitching mound. The way she'd talked about this game, you'd have thought she was playing Jackie Robinson and when she looks to where you sit, you give her a small wave, indicating that you're paying attention to her.

Though you don't know much about baseball, you cheer when Arthur does. It stirs something in you, watching Brittany get all wound up out there on the field and it makes you feel special that every time she does something good, she turns to grin at you and make sure you were watching. When the game is finally over, Brittany's team has won by one single run and they all whoop and cheer, witch David lifting Brittany up onto his shoulders and Mike running off the field to kiss Tina. You and Kurt sort of hang back a little, letting them have their moment because they can't kiss you right out in public, but when they finally depart the field Brittany touches your arm and you melt.

"I sure am starvin'! Can't wait to have myself a hotdog and a hamburger."

"I can smell them cooking, they'll certainly be ready soon."

"The women always time it well. They know when we get off the baseball field, we need to eat somethin'."

"I tried to help a bit, then I talked to your father."

"What's he doing? He alright?"

"He seems it, yes." You touch her side. "I told him I don't do much now that I'm on my summer break from school and he invited me over to spend time with him."

"Gee, I'd worry a whole lot less if you were over there with him."

"I know, that's why I'll be certain to make it happen. Though he won't admit that he needs help, perhaps inviting me was asking in his own way."

"It means he trusts ya. Pop never let anyone help, even when we were real small and all the women were linin' up to step in for my mama. He wanted to do it alone, but he's openin' up to ya."

"I'm glad for that. I don't want you to have to do this alone because he doesn't trust me."

"He knows I care for ya somethin' fierce. He may not know what that means, but he knows ya are my best friend, and I think he'd rather not put the burden all on me. If he has someone else even to talk to, then it's somethin'."

"I'll try my best to do as much as I can for him. I can promise you that."

She gives your hand a quick squeeze, and you move to join where everyone else has gathered waiting for the food to be ready. Some of your young students run around, and they smile at you, bashful to see you outside of the classroom. Though you'd have been happy to wait until everyone else was served, Mrs. Karofsky hands off plates to you and Brittany and you graciously accept before finding your blanket to sit and enjoy the meal.

You can't quite manage to eat both a hamburger and a hot dog in addition to the corn and potato salad on your plate, but Brittany manages to finish off what you leave behind. She gets up and comes back with two beers from David, handing you one and sipping the other herself. You're not particularly fond of beer, it has a certain bitterness to it, but the day is warm and the drink is cold so you sip it until you feel a bit lightheaded.

"Davey and Kurt are gonna take a walk down on the beach." Brittany tells you after you've finished your beer. "Ya wanna go?"

"Are you sure they don't want to be alone?"

"Nah, Davey said his mama'll think they're up to some kind of trouble, 'specially with so many firecrackers around. Better if we go in a group."

"I'd like that a lot, Brittany."

You stand and smooth out your dress while Brittany gets you another beer and you follow David and Kurt down to the beach. Once you're away from the crowd, you take Brittany's hand for just a moment and swing it between your bodies. The alcohol has gone to your head and you feel yourself grinning at Brittany as she smooths out a spot in the sand for you and you carefully settle in to face the setting sun and the sea.

"We oughta build a bonfire." David suggests, looking around for bits of driftwood and brush. "I'm certain Mikey'll bring Tina and Art down to find us if we're gone long enough."

"I've got a light in my pocket." Brittany procures the silver lighter that she keeps beside her pocket knife in case of emergencies and uses her hands to begin digging a hole for the fire. "Ya alright while I do this, sweetheart?"

"I'm just fine." You nod, glad to see her behave like a young person despite all the responsibility she's taken on. "Can I help?"

"Ya can just sit tight, I know ya might get awful chilly when the sun sets, so I'm gonna build ya a big fire to keep warm."

"Just be careful doing it, don't burn your hands."

Though the sunset looks so beautiful over the water, you can't help but turn your attention to Brittany as she and David work on building the fire. You hardly notice that Kurt is sitting beside you until his hand touches your wrist and you startle, turning your head to look at him.

"It was so nice of David to pick me up this morning. I know that this community likes to keep to themselves, so bring welcoming to an outsider was certainly kind."

"That's how I feel pretty frequently. I'm certain that I stick out like a sore thumb, but they've embraced me now."

"I wish that I could move over here, live in a palace by the sea and escape my father's expectations for me."

"You could. I'm certain that someday David will build a house like Brittany did and down the beach no one bothers with our business."

"I just worry that my father would be disappointed if I were to stay a bachelor."

"I'm certain my parents imagined that by now I'd perhaps have my first child on the way, but they were far more understanding than I could ever imagine."

"I'm…afraid of telling my father that I'd prefer not to get married. But I'm also uncertain how I could ever bear being married to a woman."

"Though I don't typically like to meddle in others' affairs, I think perhaps the best course of action would be to find a job here. You wouldn't be able to get yourself to work every day from so far down the island, and if you had to board here, then your father can't expect you to take a wife."

"You make it sound so simple." He rubs his hands together.

"I think that perhaps love is the simplest thing, no matter how complicated it may seem." You look over at Brittany tossing brush onto the small fire that's started and she smiles at you. "At least for me."

"I'll consider what you've said, Santana. I trust you."

Once the fire is built, Brittany comes back to you and you sit between her legs on the sand. It seems awful brazen considering your proximity to everyone else in town, including her father, but you don't expect anyone but her friends to join you down on the beach. Shortly after the fire begins to roar, Michael and Tina help Arthur down onto the sand and they provide you with more beer. Though you know that you probably shouldn't drink another, it's a holiday and you accept the open bottle, clinking it with Brittany's before you take the first sip.

"This feels really nice." You murmur, tangling Brittany's hands with your own. "I never imagined Independence Day would be this way."

"That's 'cuz ya haven't experienced one here yet. I'm so glad we get to have all the holidays together now, I love showin' ya how we do things around here."

"I love seeing it, Brittany. Everything about being with you just makes me…dreamy."

"I wonder if that's just the Schlitz talkin'." You can hear the smile in her voice and you lean your head back against her chest.

"It frees me to say what I'd like in public, but I mean the sentiment of it."

"I love havin' a gal to do these things with. Sure feels better sittin' by the fire with ya right here."

"Mmm. I could stay like this forever. As much as I love cozying up with you during the winter months, it feels so good to be out in the summer where we can breathe in the ocean air and listen to the crackle of a bonfire."

You sit like that for a long while, just leaning your head into Brittany's chest and feeling the buzz of the beer go to your head. The last of the sun slips away, and as the air cools down on darkness, Brittany drapes the blanket you'd been sitting on earlier over your shoulders and you warm up. The others murmur to each other, but you find Brittany's hand beneath the blanket and tangle your fingers together, content to sit in silence under a thousand stars.

It eventually gets late enough that Brittany suggests you go home, so you tuck the empty bottles in your picnic basket and you say your goodbyes before walking down the beach toward your home. The blanket remains draped over your shoulders and you lean into Brittany, never letting go of your hand until she's unlocking the door to your house. You're windblown and salty, but you go up to the bedroom and change into your nightgown, laying down on your side once you're washed up at waiting for Brittany to appear.

"Your cheeks are all pink." She tells you when she comes into the room, and you smile.

"Quite a bit of sun today, though you don't look as singed as you did when the little girls were here."

"Difference between when I have my swim suit on, being covered with my clothing and my cap keeps me from burnin' the way I did that day."

"Your father seemed quite relaxed today, I think this was a good day for all of us."

"I worried about him quite a bit out in the sun, but he seemed to do okay. I sure am glad ya talked to him a bit, I just want him to know ya before he…ya know."

"I'm trying to know him as best as I can, Brittany. Do you have a problem if I visit him during the day while you're out at work?"

"I sure would love if ya visited him." She tucks a strand of your hair behind her ear as she lays down in bed beside you. "Perhaps ya could cheer him up, and the cheer would keep him from…"

"I don't want you to get false expectations. I'm not quite certain that my company has healing power."

"I know…" She trails off. "Only wishful thinking. I sure do feel like ya have the power to do anything, but I know ya can't fix this."

"If I could, you know that I would. But if he's willing to have me as company, then I can care for him as best as he'll let me. That's something, at least."

"Sure is. I can't thank ya enough."

"I'm essentially your wife, Brittany. If we were married in the traditional sense then it would be expected I help care for your father. I'd like to live up to those expectations, because if my heart you and I have been wed."

"I love ya a whole lot, Santana, I hope ya know that."

"I know it every day, and today was lovely. Thank you for that."

"I'll always work my hardest to include ya in these things. I know ya gave up your whole life to stay here with me, and I want ya to have a life here too."

"I do. I'm slowly finding my place on this island beyond just being yours. It was so nice to see some of my students earlier today and to have Mrs. Karofsky let me help and not treat me like a guest. It certainly feels right for me to be among these people."

"They've embraced ya as well. Whenever I'm around, someone always asks me how ya are. They're not so wary as they once were."

"I'm grateful to have earned their trust. And I'm grateful to be here with you."

"And I sure am grateful ya showed up on this island, that's for sure."


	28. Show Me That River, Take Me Across

As the summer progresses, so does Captain Pierce's illness. After Independence Day, you find yourself going there frequently during the day. At first you merely converse with him and enjoy his company, but before long you find yourself helping him to make his lunch since he often doesn't eat breakfast. You become concerned for him when he finds it difficult to stand for long periods of time and though you wish you could keep it from Brittany, you know that even if she didn't see it with her own eyes as she visited him each evening after work, it would still be your obligation to tel his daughter that he is unwell.

"I think I oughta go stay with Pop for awhile." She tells you one night as she's changing into her pajamas. "He's gettin' real sick, sweetheart. I think I oughta be there to help him."

"If you're going to stay with him, I'd like to come with you." You stand from the bed and place your hand on her lower back. "I can care for him during the day and you won't feel so overwhelmed by doing it all yourself."

"I don't think he's gonna make it through the summer." A single tear streaks down her face and she finds your hand and intertwines your fingers. "Every day he looks sicker."

"I pray for him each night, if that's any consolation."

"I wish it was, but nothin'll console me 'sides sein' him heal up. He's stubborn as a mule but now he's even conceded to havin' us help him."

"I know." You nod slowly. "I'll pack some things for us in the morning, and perhaps we'll begin our stay tomorrow?"

"I think we oughta. But if it makes ya uncomfortable, ya sure don't have to go with me."

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Brittany, and with your father ill, there's nowhere in the world I'd be than by your side as you nurse him."

Brittany has a fitful sleep and there's nothing you can do to help her settle down. You stay up for most of the night because every time you're near sleep she turns over and wakes you again. It concerns you how worried she is for her father and it concerns you what's going to happen after his time comes. The threat of his impending death has hung over your home for months now, but seeing the condition he's in has only made it more imminent. She will fall apart when he's gone and you know that only you can pick up the pieces.

You get out of bed with Brittany before dawn and you make a pot of coffee, filling the Thermos for her to take with her out to sea. At the door, you kiss her goodbye and she remains in your embrace a bit longer than normal. You promise again that you'll pack her things and you'll leave food and water out for Lord Tubbington knowing it may be a few days before you can get back over here to feed him again. When she leaves, you sit at the table and eat an egg as you drink your coffee and then you dress for the day.

Though you won't be far from home, you want to make things easier on Brittany, so you pack the things you'll need for an extended period of time. You're both simple enough that your things fit in two valises, so you will be able to carry them to Captain Pierce's house on your own. Once it's late enough in the morning, you begin your walk to his house, figuring you'll be able to make him lunch. There's so much more you wish that you could do for him, but for now you'll simply have to settle for cooking his meals and straightening up his house.

"Ah, Miss Lopez, it's so good of ya to come this mornin'. What's with all the baggage?"

"Brittany wanted to stay back at home for awhile, sir, and I told her I'd keep you both company, if that's alright with you."

"I'd like to shoo ya right back to where ya come from, but I'm afraid I don't have much of the strength to do that. Without a wife on this earth, I suppose I have no choice but to rely on Brittany."

"I don't believe you'd be able to keep her away if you tried, but I hope I'm not an imposition on you."

"Seems like Brittany goes nowhere without ya these days. I suppose sendin' ya off'd put her in a sour mood. Besides, ya cook like nobody's business and I'd be a fool to shut ya out."

"Then I suppose I'll put these things up in Brittany's old room?"

"Ya know where to find it?"

"I've stayed here before, during the hurricane, I'm certain I remember where it is."

"Alright then, ya go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I'll just be restin' on the sofa."

You carry the valises to Brittany's old room and you settle in a little. You figure you ought to hang the clothes up to keep them from wrinkling in the bags, so you do that and you line the toiletries up on the bureau, not wanting to take up too much of Captain Pierce's space in the bathroom. When you finish in the bedroom, you find Captain Pierce asleep on the sofa and you busy yourself, thinking it would do everyone well if you cleaned the house. After you're through, you check in the kitchen to see what you can make for dinner, and when you realize there isn't much, you make a trip to the store to gather up a few things. You worry about how Captain Pierce has been caring for himself, but you realize that now that the two of you are here, it won't be a concern anymore.

By the time you finish up in the store, you see the Alcott coming in for the day and you wait on the dock, figuring you can walk back to the house with Brittany. She sees you from the deck and she waves down at you, big grin spreading across her face. It never gets old for either of you, meeting after she's been out at sea, and when she finishes up on board and climbs down to meet you, she's all smiles and bright eyes.

"I didn't expect to see ya down here."

"Your father was taking a nap and there wasn't much in the house to make dinner with. I figured I ought to stock up on a few things for meals this week, that way no one will go hungry."

"Well thank ya for that. Ya really are swell."

"I'm just trying to make this an easier time for everyone. Part of the reason your father has agreed to let me stay is because I can cook."

"Was he givin' ya a hard time?"

"Not so much, he was mostly just teasing me. His spirits are good today, but he's been sleeping for quite awhile."

Brittany insists on taking the bags from you on your walk back to her father's house and you don't argue. You know she prefers to do things like that for you and how chivalrous she is makes you swoon. The house is still quiet when you get back inside, so you insist that Brittany go on and bathe while you put the groceries away and begin preparing the chicken that you plan to cook for dinner. She comes back to the kitchen dressed as you're slicing carrots and onions and knowing that with her father asleep you're as good as alone, she gently kisses your lips, letting it linger for a long while. It pains you how difficult this is for her, but you've vowed to her her strength, so you squeeze her hand and then resume preparing dinner.

"Pop'll be glad ya decided to cook a chicken and I sure am too."

"I know that you both prefer it to anything else I make, so I assumed it would do well to start out our time here in that way."

"I feel as if this is all askin' too much of ya."

"You didn't ask me to do this, Brittany. I insisted. This isn't something that I want you to go through alone."

"I feel like I'm about to burst into tears every time I see him. He doesn't look like my big, strong Pop who used to lift me over his head whenever I'd wander in from wherever I found myself during the day."

"It won't do him well to see you like that, love. If you need to cry, do it alone with me, but let him see that you still see the strength he's losing."

"It just makes me ache inside."

"Come here." You set down your knife and wipe your hands on your apron before pulling Brittany into a tight embrace. "I wish I could take all the pain you feel right now."

"Ya have done more than I could even ask for, just knowin' I've got ya."

The first week of staying with Captain Piece is relatively calm. He sleeps most of the day when you're there alone with him and you take the time to go back to the house to feed Lord Tubbington, do the grocery shopping and sit outside and read a bit. Brittany tries to get him to do things when she comes home, but he doesn't have the strength and she doesn't push him. As much as she wants him to be his old self, she knows that he can't, and the last thing she wants is for him to feel bad that he's disappointed her.

One night after dinner, when the Captain has had a particularly good day, he takes up Brittany's offer to walk on the beach with the two of you. Though it's the end of July, he puts on a sweater that's become too big for him, and the three of you walk down the wooden walkway until you reach the sand. He moves slow as you walk so you moderate your pace to accommodate him. You think that the salt air will be good for him and you share glances with Brittany, knowing that she's happy he's out of the house.

"Sure feels good to get my feed in the sand." Captain Pierce says, pulling his sweater more tightly around himself. "I'd sure like to get another look at your house."

"Are ya sure ya feel alright to walk that far, Pop?" Brittany asks.

"Hell, I'm havin' a good day, I think I can make it down that way."

"Alright then." She smiles. "We sure have done a lot since ya saw it last."

"Brittany, I'm real sorry I never had the time to devote to ya, and to Willy too. I never expected to have two kids to manage all on my own."

"Pop…"

"Let me talk, will ya? I feel like it's somethin' I gotta say."

"Alright." She concedes, though she leans a little closer to you and your fingers itch to hold her hand.

"Perhaps I shoulda married again, gave you kids a mother, but your Mama was my whole heart and I couldn't imagine replacing her in the house with someone I could never love as much. There were a lot of ladies who were itchin' to come and help me and I think it would've been more fair to you and Willy if I'd let 'em come."

"If I'd had another mama, I'm sure she never woulda let me get on boats and learn to fish the way I have. Mary Ellen Karofsky sure wasn't allowed to do that. I didn't want for nothin' when I was a kid, because ya worked real hard to give us what ya could. I don't resent ya at all for not havin' the time to be around much, Pop. It's 'cause of ya that I'm able to provide for myself. I love the life I've got."

"Ya really don't resent me?"

"Not at all, Pop. I love ya a whole lot, and I wish I was going to have more time with ya." She wipes the tears that fall from her eyes and she stops to give her father a hug. "Ya really have been a good Pop."

"Thank ya for saying that, Brittany. It sure means a lot to me."

The three of you make it to your house, and though he struggles a little to get up the stairs, Captain Pierce marvels at the handiwork of his daughter. You really can't take much credit for the home, besides the decorating, so you stand back and smile, watching your love beam as her father admires the sweat and the heart that she's put into building the home where the two of you will grow old together. Again, you wonder if he suspects that you're more than simply friends, but he has the courtesy not to question you. He knows that you'll be there for his daughter when she loses him, and truly, in what capacity it doesn't matter.

When you return home from your long walk, Captain Pierce goes right to bed. You and Brittany listen to the radio for a bit, and then you lie face to face in her small bed for a long while, not talking, just being. It seems like more often than not these days, that's what she needs, so you give it to her. You hold her in your arms, you press your nose to hers and you look into her eyes, promising with every fiber of your being that you love her, that you'd do anything for her, that you'll be her rock when her world begins to crumble around her.

You wake up with Brittany the next morning and you make her coffee and breakfast. As much as she tells you she's capable of doing it on her own, you really enjoy cooking for her before she goes off to work and you figure you'll make Captain Pierce breakfast before long anyway, since he's an early riser too.

"Santana?"

"Hmm?"

"I really am glad ya suggested that walk last night. It was nice for me to talk to my Pop without playin' cards or listenin' to the radio."

"It seems as if he had quite a bit to say to you."

"I know he's just sayin' these things now because he's about to pass on, but we've gone most of my life without talkin' and it just…feels real important."

"He seems like he's loved you as best as he knew how. I'm not sure my father would have been able to care for the girls and I had we lost my mother."

"The burden would have fell to ya, I'm sure. Ya already helped your Mama so much as it was."

"That's fair enough, but you and William were so young, it amazes me that a father on his own was able to care for you. Even if you were raised rather…uniquely, you grew into one of the finest women there is."

"Even if I act like a boy sometimes?"

"I love you for the woman you are." You shake your head, smiling at her. "And you're going to be late for work."

"I'll see ya this afternoon. Perhaps we can get Pop to go have dinner at the bar tonight."

"That'll be nice." You nod. "I'll work on convincing him while you're gone."

You kiss her goodbye and you stand at the door, watching her walk down to where the Alcott is docked. When you go back inside, you set a plate of breakfast in the warm oven for Captain Pierce and you beginning cleaning up from breakfast. He doesn't come out by the time you're through, and though that's odd for him, you assume that the walking last night must have gotten to him and caused him to sleep late. After you read for a bit though and he still hasn't come out, you find yourself full of concern. You knock on the door to his room and he weakly calls out for you to enter. Once you're inside, you see that his breathing is labored and it sends a jolt of fear through you. Considering how well he seemed last night, you hadn't expected for him to take a turn like this, and you quickly rush to his side.

"Captain Pierce! Are you alright?"

"Just havin'…a bit of trouble breathing." He whispered, his voice hoarse. "It ought to…be better soon."

"I think you need a doctor, sir. Will you be alright if I go call for one?"

"Call for Chang's oldest son. He's…not my doctor, but…he's closest."

Panic sets in as you leave Captain Pierce's side and run to the bar to call for Michael Chang's older brother. He answers the phone and you tell him that Brittany's father can barely breathe. He promises to come quickly, but you worry that it won't be quick enough. With Brittany out as sea, you can't let her know what is happening and given the grim appearance of her father, you wonder if she won't be home too late. After last night, you hadn't expected him to die so quickly, but now you're full of concern that he could take his last breath any moment.

You return to the house and you sit at Captain Pierce's bedside while you wait for Dr. Chang to arrive. When he does, you're shocked by how young he is and you understand why Captain Pierce would go to the mainland to see a doctor he had probably been seeing for decades before Dr. Chang got his medical license. You step out of the room to give them privacy and you find yourself crying in the kitchen, afraid of what will happen when Brittany returns home. You've promised to be her strength, but now that the time for that seems imminent, you fear you'll be inadequate. She needs you to hold her up, she needs to you tell her everything is going to be alright and you wipe your face, promising that you won't allow her to see you as a blubbering mess.

"Miss Lopez." Dr. Chang steps out of the bedroom. "I've given him some morphine pills. As far as he's told me, his cancer has far progressed and there's little else I can do for him."

"How long does he have? Brittany won't be home for several hours."

"It could be any time now, but it could be as long as a week. I'll go meet Brittany when the Alcott comes in and have a conversation with her, I know you're doing quite a bit for this family, but perhaps I should be the one who tells her the prognosis."

"Okay." You nod, though you think perhaps you're taking the coward's way out not telling her yourself. "There's truly nothing else?"

"The morphine will take away his pain."

Though you wonder if perhaps Captain Pierce would like the dignity of being alone, you return to his bedside with a glass of water after Dr. Chang leaves. You can't bring yourself to leave him alone, so you sit there as he wheezes and falls in and out of fitful sleeps. Though you'd ordinarily read while he was asleep, you can't manage to do it so you just sit vigil at his bedside, both waiting for and dreading the moment Brittany has to come home and see her father in this state.

"She's an odd girl." Captain Pierce mumbles in a half awake state. "Do ya know that about her?"

"Brittany?"

"It's small enough 'round here that they talk." He seems to not respond to you, but keeps talking. "She fancies the company of other gals."

You freeze at his words, though you know he's not quite lucid. Brittany's father seemed so oblivious to everything that went on, but yet here he lays, mumbling that his daughter fancies the company of other girls. You had never expected anyone to say such things out loud, especially her father, but he knows, and he doesn't seem…angered by it.

"Don't feign that ya fancy her if ya don't. She'll have had enough heartbreak when I'm gone."

"I won't hurt her, Captain Pierce. I…fancy her as well." You admit, barely above a whisper.

"I don't quite understand it, gals fancyin' other gals, who who'm I to judge?"

Captain Pierce falls back into a fitful sleep and you're left stunned by the words he said. Never would you have suspected that words like that could be said, but he said them to you and you feel a sense of…validation from hearing them. Brittany's father will die knowing that his daughter was loved, as odd as that love may me, and you hope that it gives Brittany a sense of peace knowing that he truly knew her in a way so few are able to.

You hold your book in your lap while he sleeps, but you just watch him, fearful that he'll stop breathing before Brittany makes it home. With each rise and fall of his chest, you feel as if _you_ can breathe. You hear the front door open and you slowly stand, thinking that you should go to Brittany before she has to come in here and see her father in such a state.

"Santana." She breathes, pulling you into her tearful embrace as she walks through the door. "What happened?"

"I don't know." You shake your head. "You spoke to Dr. Chang?"

"I've known Guy since we were just kids, how'm I supposed to believe that he knows what he's talking about?"

"Brittany."

"We oughta take him to the mainland, have his doc look at him." Tears stream down Brittany's face and she sounds frantic. "He was just fine last night."

"I know." You hold her close and let her cry. "I've seen patients in my father's office take a turn for the worst like that."

"What do ya think I should do? Ya know more about doctorin' than I do. Do ya think we should get him on the ferry and take him across?"

"I think…" You breathe, steeling yourself. "That you ought to spend as much time with your father as you can right now, and now put his body through the unneeded stress of traveling when he's in this state."

When Brittany goes into her father's bedroom, she doesn't keep the pretense of being strong. She openly weeps at his side holding his hand and she murmurs things to him that you can't hear. You leave her there, not wanting to disturb their time together and you sweep the floors, bringing the sand from last night back outside. In between chores, you peek in to see her resting her head in her hands but as much as you want to go to her, you understand that this is a time she needs to be alone with him.

After you cook dinner, you bring a plate into Brittany, who sits stoic. She's still in her dirty fishing clothes and she doesn't even notice as you enter the room. Slowly, you sit down beside her and you offer up the plate, not surprised when she shakes her head that she doesn't want it.

"I can't eat right now, Santana. I can't do anything but watch him."

"I wish so strongly that I could do something for you, anything."

"Being in the house with me makes it feel less lonely. Do ya think he was mad that I left him all alone when I went and built our house."

"I think…I think he wanted you to be happy. He knew that you had feelings for me."

"What?" She turns her head slowly and you nod.

"He asked me not to hurt you."

"How could be know such a thing when we go to such pains to keep it between us?"

"I suppose he heard from others of you dancing at Cherry Grove and made an assumption that I was one of the girls you fancied. He said he had no place to judge."

"I could have been open with him that I saw ya as my wife." She sniffles, wiping her tears on her dirty shirt sleeve.

"I think he knows enough, Brittany. But perhaps when he wakes up again, you could tell him that."

"Ya don't mind? I know ya really care about keeping our love private."

"I told you father that I fancied you too." You breathe, stroking through her long blonde hair. "I wanted him to know that you were loved and that he wouldn't be leaving you alone in this world."

"Sweetheart, ya didn't have to do that, I know it makes ya uncomfortable."

"I was comfortable doing it." You shake your head. "Why don't you bathe and change and I'll sit here for a little bit."

"I'm so scared something'll happen while I'm gone."

"You'll just be down the hallway, I'll come for you f he needs you."

It takes a bit more convincing, but you manage to get Brittany to leave her father's bedside. When she comes out, dressed more comfortably, you even get her to eat a little. She asks you to sit with her for a while and you do, giving her soft touches while she holds her father's hands and hopes for him to wake up. She asks you to pray for him because she doesn't know how, so you say the Lord's Prayer over him and you touch the cross around your neck. You believe that God has a plan, even if it's not the plan you wish for, but you're certain that Brittany is hoping that your prayers will awaken her father and cure him of the disease that's ravaged his body.

"Ya should go to sleep." She tells you, when it's long past the time you would ordinarily go to bed.

"I don't want to leave you here."

"I think I'd like to be alone with him a bit, if ya don't mind."

"If that's what you'd like, I'll leave you to it."

After you bathe, you go into the bedroom and you lie down. It takes you a long while before you can fall asleep, both from how strange it feels to be lying in bed without Brittany and from how concerned you are about Captain Pierce. You know that she never comes to bed though and when you wake up in the morning, her space beside you is cold. You dress quickly and when you get to the kitchen, a pot of coffee is made and Brittany sits at the table, head in her hands, sobs wracking her body.

"Brittany." You wrap your arms around her from behind and she stands up, knees giving out once she grasps you. "Oh, Brittany."

"He's gone, Santana, he's gone."

"Shhhh, shhh, I've got you, my love."


	29. All I Could Do Was Cry

On the morning of Captain Pierce's funeral, it rains. The night before, you had been up late hemming the black dress you'd brought Brittany to buy and worrying about her as she lay quiet on the sofa. She'd been overwhelmed with the details of his funeral arrangements in the days prior and it was the first time she had any peace to just _be_. You'd left her alone mostly, knowing she wanted it that way, but as you sit in the small church on the island, you slide as close as you can to her in the pew and you upturn your hand, offering it to her should she choose to take it.

No one thinks it odd that you sit beside Brittany in the front row. You're her closest confidante and with her father gone, the closest thing she has to a family. No one thinks it odd that you hold her hand either. You'd seen your mother hold hands with her friends in a time of grief, and while you hold Brittany's hand more intimately than that, there's nothing about it that gives you away. You think though, even if there were, you wouldn't even consider tearing your hand away. You'd promised yourself that you'd be her strength in Brittany's hour of need and by her side that's what you are.

Though everyone in town expects Brittany to be different from other women, she weeps through the service like any of the rest of you would. She uses your hand to wipe her tears when the minister speaks of the kind of man her father was. Her knees buckle when she stands to take the flag from the solider who presents it in Captain Pierce's honor for his service in the First World War. Her sobs echo through the church when the pallbearers come to bring her father out to the cemetery to be laid to rest beside her mother.

You remain at her side as you walk down the muddy path and she doesn't let go of your hand. There's nothing you can possibly offer her right now besides that and you're grateful that there's at least one thing you have that she hasn't lost. When the minister finishes eulogizing Captain Pierce and reminds those who stand there that from dust you are and to dust you shall return, you wrap your arm around Brittany's waist to help her stand. She's so weakened by grief that it frightens you and you have to support her as she lays a rose on her father's casket before it's lowered into the ground.

Afterwards, it seems that everyone on the island is invited back to your house and you'd spent the afternoon before cooking to make sure there would be enough food. You and Brittany get back to the house before anyone else arrives and you follow her into the bedroom, unsure if she wants to be alone or if she wants you nearby. She sinks down on the bed and puts her head in your hands and you stand in front of her, wishing you could gather her up and make everything go away.

"All I want to do is go to bed. I don't want to entertain all of these people who are gonna ask me how I'm doin'. I'm doin' not good."

"I know." You nod. "I'm sorry that you were expected to do this."  
"Ya spent all last night cookin' and I should be glad enough I didn't have to do that. But I hurt inside."

"Just a few more hours, sweetheart, and then you can rest. I know today has been a lot on you."

"It was harder than Willy. Least with him I didn't have to watch him get lowered into the ground."

You don't say anything else, you just wrap your arms around her and hold her for a long while. People will be there any moment and you have things you ought to be doing to get ready, but in the moment, there's nothing more important than making sure Brittany is taken care of. She cries a little more and then she finally pulls back, wiping her face with her hands.

"I sure am glad I have ya, Santana. I wouldn't be able to do it without ya standing beside me.

"There's nowhere else I'd be than with you, Brittany. I love you more than words can say."

Not long after you leave the bedroom, people begin arriving. So many of them come bearing food and you begin to line it up on the kitchen table beside the things you cooked. It's kind of them to be so helpful, though you still wish Brittany could have avoided the entire situation, and you express your gratitude as so many people you don't know introduce themselves to you before going off to find Brittany.

"How's she doing?" Arthur finds you in the kitchen washing dishes and you give him a small smile.

"As best as she can be, I suppose. She's had a lot to do these past few days, I worry for her when she doesn't have to be busy anymore."

"Davey said she's going back to work tomorrow?"

"That's what she's told me. She's worried that David has had to captain all week and she feels that she should be there on her own boat."

"Meanwhile, Davey'd be willing to do it as long as she needed."

"I told her that, but she's insistent. It may be good for her though, to do what she loves."

"I'm sure the boys'll keep an eye on her too."

"I have faith they will."

It seems as if you just can't get everyone to leave. They stay for hours upon hours and each time you look at Brittany, she appears even more exhausted. You know that these people are like family to her, but you also know that she'd prefer your house to be the haven from the world that it always is. She holds herself together well through the duration of it and you manage to get her to eat a little casserole and drink a little coffee while she converses.

When everyone finally leaves, Brittany sinks down onto the sofa. She drops her head back and closes her eyes and you leave her be, thinking that she just needs peace and quiet for a few moments. You begin cleaning up from company, wrapping leftovers in foil, washing more dishes, putting away the bridge chairs you'd taken out to make more seating space.

"What can I do to help ya?" She asks you softly, as you're stacking the chairs in the front closet.

"You don't need to do anything to help." You shake your head. "You ought to rest, it's been a difficult day."

"I can't really bring myself to rest, tired as I am."

"I'm just about through cleaning up, we can go for a walk if you'd like."

"I think I'd like that a lot. Just bein' with ya is all I really want tonight."

"How about you have a beer while I finish putting the dishes away and then we'll walk down to the water?"

"Alright. I sure wanted a beer all day while I had to talk for hours upon hours."

"I assumed as much." You nod and you take a beer out of the ice box to hand to her.

"Have one with me?"

"If you'd like." You take another and she opens both.

"To Pop." She sniffles, clinking her bottle against yours.

"To a very kind man."

While you finish up with the dishes, she drinks her beer and changes into clothing that's more comfortable for her, leaving the dress strewn across the bed. You find her in the bedroom when you're through and you take her into your arms, squeezing her as tightly as you can possibly imagine. She watches as you change out of your funeral dress as well, opting for a simple skirt and blouse to walk on the beach. There's something restorative about the ocean for her, you're certain of it, and you quickly finish your beer, feeling it go to your head, before you walk out of the house with your hand in hers.

"I couldn't have done it without ya today." She tells you, once your feet are in the sand. "Holdin' me up when I felt like I was gonna collapse, and doin' all the things at the house when we had company."

"There's nothing else I would have done." You twist the ring that you'd slipped back on your finger when you were changing. "Brittany, I made a promise to your father that I'd care for you, and that's just what I plan to do."

"I'd feel so lonely if it weren't for havin' ya."

"I'd feel lonely too. You fill a space in my heart."

"Do ya think he's with my mother now? Do ya think he's got a hole filled up from his heart."

"I'd like to believe that, yes."

"I wish I knew more about God and heaven like ya do. To me it just feels like he's in the ground and I never get to see him again."

"I know." You smile sadly, squeezing her hand. "But as far as I believe, he's been reunited with the woman he loved and he's with your brother too."

"I sure hope I don't join them any time soon, much as I miss them, I'd miss you a whole lot more."

"Brittany." You sigh, the thought of losing her painful. "I know you're afraid."

"My whole family passed on real young, what's to say I won't?"

"It's up to God." You shake your head. "But I believe we have so much time ahead of us."

"There's so much I want to do with ya." She walks you down to the water and you let the waves wet your toes. "I want to grow old with ya, sittin' out on our porch watching this ocean."

"I want nothing more than that. I imagine having the most simple life with you and it brings me a greater joy than the adventures in my books that I imagined someday having."

"I'd like to take ya on an adventure. Perhaps someday I'll get ya to see Europe and we'll wave from the deck of a ship."

"I don't need that, you know."

"I know, but I want to give it to ya. Ya always had all these big dreams before ya settled down into life on this island and there's no reason ya can't have both."

"You're too good, Brittany. It stuns me how lucky I am to have found you."

"It stuns me that ya showed up on this island one day and ya grew to love me. I have all these people here who promised to look after me today, but if I'm being honest, I only want to have ya at my side."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I have to clean out his house. I don't know what to do with it, he built it for my Mama, and I feel awful not to keep it. But what am I supposed to do with two houses?"

"Perhaps someone would rent it from you? Then you don't have to be rid of it for good and you could still visit it as you like."

"Seems like more and more people are rentin' these days. I worry about it."  
"Because the island is changing?"

"Seems like everything's changin'. I can't think about it now though. My head's all fuzzy."

"Are you okay to keep walking?"

"I need to. Gotta clear my head before bed."

"And you're sure you want my company?"

"I'm sure. It makes me feel better havin' ya close by."

Together, you walk for a long while. Once it gets dark, she takes the flashlight out of her pocket and illuminates the sand beneath your feet, ensuring you don't step on horseshoe crabs or skates. When she's finally ready to go home, you follow her lead and go back inside the house. She feeds Lord Tubbington and goes back up to the bedroom. Because you can't think of anything else to do, you run a bath for the two of you and you get in, allowing her to sink back into your arms when she joins you.

"This day feels as if it's been a hundred years long." She sighs, closing her eyes. "My bones feel tired."

"Are you sure you want to go out and fish tomorrow morning? David said—"  
"I've relied too much on Davey this week, I need to go captain my own boat. Did ya know my Pop took me and Willy with him on the ferry the day after my Mama's funeral?"

"You really rode the ferry when you were that young?"

"Pop had no choice until we were big enough to be left behind. I got my sea legs before I could walk, and Pop always said I swam first too."

"I can imagine it. You were born to love the water."

"I really want ya to come out with us one day, ya haven't seen the ocean until you're out on it on the Alcott. It's nothin' like takin' Davey's boat on the bay."

"I don't want to get in your way…"

"I know ya won't, Santana. Ya always act so conscientious."

"If it's something you'd like me to do, I'd be happy to do it."

"How about ya come tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"It sure would make my first day back at work brighter, havin' ya there."

"Okay." You nod, though truth be told, you're incredibly nervous about being out on the open ocean. "If that will make you happy, I'll come with you in the morning."

Though Brittany had seemed to be doing better on your walk and in the tub, she ends up crying herself to sleep in your arms. It's difficult for you to watch and be unable to do anything to stop her pain, but you hold her close and kiss her head, trying to make her feel better in some small way. It's very late before you fall asleep, being wracked with worry, and you know it'll be difficult to wake up in the morning, but you've made a promise to Brittany that you'll go out with her crew and it's not something you'd break.

She gives you a soft kiss to wake you up and you sit up in bed, rubbing your face with the palms of your hands. She's quiet as she gets ready and she gives you a pair of her trousers and a shirt to wear, knowing that your clothes won't be appropriate to wear on a fishing trip. Despite her sadness, she grins wide at you when she sees you in her clothing and her cap, your hair pulled up beneath it to keep from catching on anything, as she suggested, and your heart warms at her genuine delight.

The bottoms of your trousers and your shirtsleeves are rolled as you walk with Brittany to the marina. It's so early in the morning and you share the Thermos of coffee between you, glad you packed an extra one in her lunch bag. Michael, David and the others are shocked to see you, especially dressed as you are, when Brittany helps you aboard the Alcott, but you just smile and wave, trying to blend in rather than make a spectacle when you're just there to observe what it is Brittany does. You do notice though that they treat her with kid gloves given what happened, but she joshes them and attempted to keep as much normalcy as possible.=

"If ya sit up here, ya will find the the most comfort." She tells you, gesturing to a floor space at the front of the boat. "Sorry we don't have better accommodations, but it ain't every day we have a lady, 'specially one I care about, on board."

"I'm alright, Brittany, I just want you to be able to do your job while I feel what it's like to be aboard the Alcott."

"She's a beaut, that's for sure. I hope ya love it as much as I do. Maybe ya will decide to quit teachin' and be a deckhand." She teases, the twinkle in her eye that you missed reappearing. You think it's good that you care, you think it's good that she's back to doing something she loves instead of sitting around being forced to deal with such intense feelings, and you're glad you're here.

You stay out of the way as Brittany and the others work with the lines and get you moving. From your spot, you marvel at the way they know just what to do, when you can't even imagine what one thing on this boat is for. You watch the dock disappear and the houses grow smaller as you head out into open water and you're surprised by how rough it is. It surprises you when you begin to feel a little queasy but you manage to keep from retching by biting the inside of your cheek. From the wheel of the boat, Brittany calls out orders and you manage to smile at how adept she is at managing her crew.

"Whadda ya think?" She asks after they've dropped anchor.

"It's something out here." The wind whips through your hair and you feel a little less sick now that you've stopped moving.

"Ya feel sick, don't ya?"

"I'll have to get used to the motion of the water is all, I'll be alright."

"Ya gotta keep your eyes right on the horizon line, and here—" She reaches in her pocket and hands you a ginger candy. "I keep these around in case it's rough and some of the fellas get sick."

"It really is beautiful out here, sick as I feel."

"There ain't nothin' like it, Santana. I was never any good at school, but I'm real good at this, and I'm lucky enough that this gets to be my day every day. Feels like my soul's bein' healed out here today."

"I'm sure your father would want you to be on the water, he loved it as much as you did."

"He traveled the waters of the world back when he was in the navy. I think he loved the sea even more than I ever could."

"I think he passed his love down to you, even if you may never have seen the seas of the world. You love this water enough for all the waters."

"Ya always manage to sound so poetic." She laughs a little. "Do ya mind if I get to work?"

"I'm not here to keep you from working." You shake your head. "Go on, I'll observe from here."

You suck on the ginger candy Brittany gave you and you watch her crew at work. It amazes you and terrifies you each time they pull a huge fish in, but you manage to stay completely out of their way, glad for the shade your borrowed cap offers you from the blazing sun above. When they finish fishing for the day, you get to watch Brittany barter at the fish market and it amazes you how skilled she is. Through she may be a woman captain, she's respected by everyone around her and your heart swells with pride, glad you got to see what it is she does every day.

When you get back to the marina, you thank the men on Brittany's crew for allowing you a chance to come aboard and you bid them goodbye, feeling much less nauseated with your feet on dry land. With a pocket full of money, Brittany buys you a drink from Arthur at the bar and you sip it slowly, amused by the way Arthur looks at you in your borrowed clothes. You feel a lot less like this iMiss Lopez/i they all know and more like you belong on this island. You'd never feel comfortable in clothes like this every day, but you have to smile at the way you're offered a different sort of kinship then as Miss Lopez the outsider, Miss Lopez the teacher, Miss Lopez Brittany's dear friend.

"Long day, huh?" Brittany asks when you're on the beach, walking hand in hand.

"It's a marvel to me that you do that every day, it's certainly a lot being in the hot sun, and I didn't even do any work."

"It's a marvel to me that ya manage to teach those kids to read and write all day. I supposed it's just different strokes for different folks."

"We certainly are different, aren't we?" You smile a little and you rest your head on her shoulder.

"But we go so well together. I sure was glad to know you were close by today, made me less likely to cry thinkin' about Pop."

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, I promise."

"Do ya think we could go to that church we went to, on the mainland, this Sunday? I'd really like it if ya could pray for him."

"I've prayed for him every night since he fell ill, and I've prayed for his soul each day since he passed, but if you'd like to go to church on Sunday, I'd never pass up an opportunity for that."

"I think your prayers'll get him into heaven. That's important, right?"

"It's definitely something that should be done." You nod. "But it seems to me that your father lived a good life, he should have no problem getting in."  
"I just don't want to take any chances. We could light some candles or somethin'. Anythin' that'll make sure of it."

"Okay." You kiss her cheek and squeeze her hand. "We'll do just that."

"Do ya think you could teach me how to pray proper? Sometimes I try when I'm layin' in bed with my eyes closed, but ya know all the right prayers. The Our Father and the Hail Mary and all that."

"I think, Brittany, that though I was raised to believe there's a certain way to pray and I embrace my Catholic faith, God is still listening to you when you speak to him, and He knows you speak on behalf of your father's soul."

"I trust ya on that." She sighs, then looks over at the new house that someone is building not far from your own. "It'll be awful weird when we have neighbors."

"I'm still surprised you haven't learned who it is. It seems that you'd know."

"Must not be someone local." She scowls a little, because despite her love for you just like the others, she's worried about her home becoming a place that is overrun by people who don't understand their way of life. "I just hope it doesn't bother ya, havin' someone invade our privacy."

"We'll still have our privacy." You squeeze her hand. "You can see our balcony from here and it seems alright that we hold hands on the beach. Girls do such things."

"I don't know much about girls, but I trust what ya say."

"Perhaps they'll be nice, it might be enjoyable to have neighbors and not have to go so far for companionship. Or perhaps they'll value privacy as much as we do, considering they've chosen to build a home so far from the others."

"I suppose you're right. I'm sorry I'm not feelin' awful kindly tonight."

"You've had a difficult few days, I think we should go home and rest."

"Yeah, that sounds real good."


	30. Only You Beneath the Moon and the Sun

A sadness still hangs over Brittany in the weeks following her father's funeral and you try your hardest to make her smile. She's quiet, mostly, but sometimes when you're lying side by side in bed at night or walking hand in hand on the beach, you can get her to laugh. You want nothing more than for her to not feel pain but there's little you can do besides just being at her side through all of the emotions that she feels.

Cleaning out Captain Pierce's house is difficult. It's full of things not only of his, but of Brittany's mother and brother. She only wants to keep a few mementos of them, Willy's flag to be kept beside her father's, all of the photos she finds, quilts made by her mother, so you help her box everything else up to be donated and you scrubs the walls and floors, wanting to leave the place in good shape for when she's ready to rent it out. The biggest thing she keeps is her mother's writing desk and she gets David and Michael to help her carry it back to your house. It looks beautiful in your sitting room and when you see how having it makes her smile, you squeeze her hand and tell her it looks wonderful.

The house just down the beach from you is almost done and one Sunday afternoon when you're out walking on the beach with Brittany, you see a young blonde man outside. A look passes between you and Brittany and you decide to introduce yourselves to who you presume is your new neighbor. When he sees you approaching, he lifts his hat and gives a wave. You curl your toes in the sand and you walk up toward the nearly finished house, smiling at the man who stands shading his eyes from the sun.

"Hey there!" He grins. "Nice seeing someone out on the beach, I've been doing the finishing touches on my house for the past few days and haven't seen anyone."

"We live just down the beach." Brittany points in the direction on your house. "Ya new around here?"

"Sure am." He extends his hand to shake hers, and then offers it to you as well. "I'm Sam, Sam Evans. I'm building this place for my wife Mercy and me."

"Brittany Pierce, and this is Santana Lopez. What brings ya out this way?"

"I'm a boat builder. We live in Manhattan now, but an opportunity brought me out this way, and I'd rather get out of the wharf. Plus, Mercy and I'd like a little privacy. We've got a baby coming any week now, and there's a lot of people who aren't too keen on that."

"Oh?" You purse your lips and look at Brittany.

"Mercy's colored. Folks are still old fashioned and don't think the two of us should be married. Adding a baby to the mix only adds fuel to their fire. Seeing the two of you walking together gives me hope that it'll be different for us out here."

"Most people here mind their own business." Brittany tells him. "So long as ya don't hurt anyone, ya won't be bothered."

"Mercy'll be glad to hear that."

"I'm from Manhattan as well." You say softly "I've been here for two years now and I've come to love the kindness of the people here."

"You two sure seen nice. Mercy'll be happy to have some gals she can talk to. Leaving behind her mama and her friends when she's this far along in her pregnancy isn't making her the happiest."

"I'm a teacher, so I'm mostly at home during the summer. She can feel free to call on me as she likes."

"I'll tell her that, Miss Lopez." He lifts his hat again. "I ought to get back to work, there are only so many hours of daylight, but it sure was nice meeting you and I'll see you around once I get Mercy all moved in here."

"If ya need any help, I'm happy to give it. I built our place and I've got friends that'll help haul your furniture out."

"I appreciate that, Miss Pierce—"

"Nobody around here'll call me Miss Pierce, I'm just Brittany."

"Alright then, Brittany. If I need any help, I'll be sure to ask you for it."

After you say goodbye to Sam, you and Brittany walk back home. She'd gotten up early in the morning and gone out clamming, so you scrub the clams in the sink and set about making a sauce to cook them in. You never had the fresh shellfish available to you in the city and you're still getting used to cooking it, but you manage to adapt some of your mother's recipes and this afternoon is no different. Brittany cuts an onion for you and you get the pot on the stove, getting it to simmer while the clams rest in the sink.

"I'm interested to meet Sam Evans' wife." Brittany looks over your shoulder as you stir the pot and you turn to give her a soft peck on the lips. "Perhaps it won't be so bad havin' them as neighbors."

"Hearing the privacy is important to them, I feel a little better about it."

"Maybe ya can get on well with his wife too. 'Specially if she was raised real proper like you and enjoys books, seems like sometimes ya really only have Art to talk to, with Kurt on the other side of the island."

"I have you also."

"Course ya have me, but it'd be nice for ya to have another friend who shares your interests."

"It's true, it would be. Though, if she has a baby on the way, her time might be taken up with that."

"I don't think so, lotsa people have babies and still have time to make friends. I bet she'd like to have a neighbor she could talk to. Ya know lots about babies, ya could help her."

"We'll see how it is when she comes. I suppose their love isn't welcomed in society, much like ours isn't, and I feel bad for them trying to have a baby together."

"They'll be welcomed here, people aren't so worried about what people do that different from what society seems proper. It's probably a good choice Sam Evans made comin' here."

"Do you think they'd welcome us so much if they knew?" You ask quietly, lowering the flame on the stove.

"I think people assume already. Ya know they know the kinda things that go on in Cherry Grove. They know there are women who love women and men who love men, but they'd never say it aloud."

"Hmm." You hum, unsure of what to say to that. "I suppose that's for the best."

"Sometimes quiet is."

The next few days are quiet in your home and while Brittany is at work, you begin thinking about your lessons for the new school year. You have just a few short months before the weather turns cold and you think of ways you can engage your pupils outside again, seeing how well it worked in the spring. You take notes at your desk and you tuck them away, thinking you'll need them in a few short weeks when you go back. You're excited for it, truly, having the long days with little to do have made you itch for the school days. Though your grandmother always said that idle hands are the devil's playground, you find yourself more bored than devilish and when you're through for the morning, you decide to go for a walk on the beach.

You walk toward the new house and you're surprised when you see a heavily pregnant colored woman standing with her feet in the ocean. You hadn't expected that Sam Evans and his wife would move in so quickly, but seeing this woman, you're certain they have. Not wanting to startle her, you approach her slowly and when you're close enough, you softly call out a hello.

"Hey there." She turns and smiles. "You must be one of the neighbors that Sam told me about."

"I am, I'm Santana Lopez and it's so nice to finally meet you."

"Mercy Evans." She extends her hand and you take it. "It's nice to meet you as well."

"What do you think of it here so far? I'm from the city too, so I know it can take a little adjusting."

"To be honest, what I'm most concerned about these days is how difficult it'll be to make my way to a doctor. I wanted to wait until I had the baby to come on out here, but Sam's job wouldn't wait and I didn't want to send him alone."

"I can see why that would be scary." You think of Brittany's mother and you try not to shutter. "I know I'm not a doctor, but I'm just a short walk down the beach. I helped my mother deliver my youngest sister, so if you're alone and can't get to one in time, I'm sure I could help you the best I can."

"That's really kind of you. Sam said the people around these parts were much kinder than the ones in the city."

"I suppose it must have been difficult for you there, with all of the ignorance that runs rampant in this world."

"I never meant to fall in love with a white man, but then there was Sam and I just couldn't help myself."

"It's difficult to control who you fall in love with." You smile tightly, thinking of your own circumstances. "But love is a wonderful thing."

"I think if I can show my baby that, I'll have done right by them." She smiles. "I'll let you get on with your walk, I ought to go into the house and work on unpacking our things anyway."

"If there's anything you need, feel free to knock on our door. We're used to being quite alone out here, so I know it's a bit frightening. Perhaps if you'd like, we can have you and your husband over for dinner."

"We'd like that a lot, thank you." She nods gratefully. "It's been nice meeting you, Santana."

"You as well, Mercy."

You continue your walk, smiling to yourself that Mercy was so kind. Brittany will be glad for it, you think, and you look forward to her coming home so you can tell her. You think that while you're out, out ought to continue down to the market and pick up a few things, so you do, glad that you brought your shoes with you, though the owner often doesn't frown at people who walk in without them. Perhaps you'll be in there long enough that the Alcott will come in and you'll be able to walk home with Brittany. You feel a bit needy after the long lonely days of summer, but Brittany never makes you feel as if you're foolish in your excitement for her coming home.

In the market, you choose some vegetables, thinking how much you hate to cook in the scorching heat of the house in August. You look at the meat but nothing seems appealing to you and you wonder if perhaps Brittany would like to go down to the bay and pull up her crab pot. It'd be nice, you think, to cook outside in her big pot, and if she brings in crabs, she's likely to do as much. So you settle for potatoes and onions, thinking you can make a nice cool potato salad to go with them and you fan yourself as you check out, wishing you'd chosen a cooler dress than the one you have on.

It's not quite time for the Alcott to come in, but you decide to sit in the shade waiting for it. You watch the people pass on the dock and you think about what Brittany said a few days earlier about people assuming about you. You wonder what they think as they pass by, but you try not to dwell too deeply on it, considering that they all smile and wave at you, having grown comfortable in your presence. When the Alcott finally comes in, you stand and smile, watching Brittany take notice of you long before she disembarks from the boat.

"I didn't know ya were comin' down today." She grins. "Ain't market day yet."

"I thought I'd look for something simple to cook for dinner." You tell her. "It was awfully hot in the house and I just wanted to get some fresh air."

"What did ya decide on makin'?"

"Well, I was hoping perhaps you'd like to go out and check on your crab pot, if you're not awfully tired. I could make a potato salad and we could sit and eat out on the porch."

"It is somethin' fierce in that house, isn't it? This August heat's really gettin' to me and the fans aren't doin' all that much to cool things down. I think it'd be nice to do that, ya haven't come out with me in awhile."

"Do you think David would mind if we borrowed his dinghy for a bit?"

"Hey Davey!" She shouted. "I'm gonna go check my crab pot this afternoon, 's it alright if I borrow your boat?"

"Go on ahead, Cap." He grinned, tipping his hat to you. "I'm not usin' it."

"Well that's settled then. Do ya say we go out now, that way we don't walk home and back?"

"I could take the cool breeze on the boat right about now. I'm simply scorching in this dress."

Brittany insists upon taking the small bag from you and together you walk over to where David docks his boat. She helps you aboard and she unties the lines, starting up the small motor. You savor the breeze on your face as you watch her navigate the bay and you wish that you could sit out like this all day. Even on the ocean, the air has been stagnant and despite how brutal the last winter was, you find yourself wishing for the coolness of fall to settle in. Brittany says the almanac calls for an Indian Summer and you're certain that the days of heat won't come to an end very soon, so you lean back a little against the bow of the boat and you take in as much of the breeze as you can.

"Looks like we've got a whole mess of 'em." She tells you when she pulls up the metal trap that lays beneath the back. "Sure is more than enough for the two of us to eat."

"I've seen you eat them, Brittany, I'm not sure it's possible to ever have too many."

"Ain't that the truth?" She grins, dumping them into the bucket and setting the trap back down.

"I met Sam Evans' wife today." You say once you're moving again. "We had a nice conversation on the beach."

"How's she likin' it here?"

"She's getting used to it, as I did. She's a bit nervous about the baby coming, it seems."

"Is she awful far along?"

"Looks like she could go any day now. I told her we'd like to have them for dinner soon."

"That'd be nice, maybe make some hamburgers and have them sit outside too. I'd hate to have 'em sweat in our house."

"I'm sure they're feeling cooler here than they were in the city, though Mercy looked as if she were about to swim in the ocean today."

"That'd be nice to do tonight, if ya feel up for it. Heck, if I had my swimsuit, I'd jump in the bay right now."

"That ought to cool me down a little, after dinner I'd like to go for a little swim."

Brittany hauls the bucket of crabs back to your house while you carry the small bag from the grocery store. She starts preparing outside while you go inside and make the potato salad. You know just how she likes it, so you're careful to balance the salt and pepper. When you come out with the bowl of salad and the dishes she tells you the crabs are just about ready and you smile, kissing her behind her ear. You watch as her face flushes a little, just as it always does when you kiss her there, and you lay out old newspapers on the table to make the cleanup of the crabs just a little bit easier.

"Do ya think your mama'll send the girls out again before the summer ends? I sure would like to see 'em. I've been thinkin' about it since Pop died, how nothin' cheers me up quite like a bunch of Lopez girls. I got one here that does me real good, but…"

"I'll talk to my mother." You laugh, carefully picking one of the crabs she dumped on the table so as not to burn yourself. "I think she might be open to sending them, perhaps for a bit longer this time. Though I know she's wishing I'd be able to come see her in the city."

"If ya want, ya should go, I'm sure ya miss her somethin' fierce right now."

"I don't want to leave you just yet, Brittany, and I know you can't take the time away from the Alcott at this time of year."

"I'd be just fine if ya went, I don't want ya to stay on my account."

"I don't like being away from you much." You shake your head, though perhaps if she wasn't grieving, you might consider it. "Perhaps during striped bass season, if I feel the pull to go, I will. But for now I'll settle on phone calls and letters."

"I do know ya are in need of more books though, that seems awful important."

"Perhaps I'll take a day trip to the mainland. I need some new stockings for when the school year begins, and perhaps some other clothing. While I'm there, I'll find my way to the bookstore."

"I hope ya pick out somethin' real nice that ya can read to me. It's all that's been puttin' my mind at ease at night."

"I'll go before we finish _Emma_." You promise, pulling the meat from inside the crab shell and watching as she breaks the legs.

"I don't think I'm ready to ride the ferry without Pop as the captain." She tells you. "Wouldn't feel right to me, or else I'd offer to go with ya."

"Take your time before you do that, you'll have to ride it all winter, so there's no use in rushing."

"It's foolish of me to feel that way, but I can't help it."

"There's nothing foolish about you. When my aunt died, there were certain foods that my mother couldn't cook lest she think of her. I believe it's natural to want to avoid things that feel painful."

"Ya sure are good at makin' me feel better."

Just as you'd expected, Brittany manages to eat enough crabs to finish them off and while she clears off the table, you cover the leftover potato salad with foil and wash the dishes. She finds you in the bedroom changing into your swimsuit and smiles at your naked form. You haven't been intimate since before you went to stay with her father, but the way she looks at you makes you feel warm all over. She doesn't take her eyes off of you as she changes and you feel a bit sheepish, unsure how to respond to that.

You walk down to the beach together and the sun is low in the sky. It's dangerous to swim after dark, even when the moon is bright, but you still have some time before darkness falls and you step into the cool ocean, grateful for the reprieve from the heat of the day and evening. Brittany submerges herself before you do and you watch how she floats on her back, letting the waves carry her. She always seems at peace in the water and she's gone swimming a lot since her father passed away. But you don't think that tonight is about sadness for her, you think tonight she's truly just in the water to cool off and that's affirmed by the playful way she splashes you when it takes too long for you to swim.

Though the sun sinks slowly, before you know it, it's too dark to swim any longer and you find your way to the shore. Brittany hands you a towel and you dry off, letting your hair drip into the sand. The two of you sit down on the beach for a long while, just silently feeling the cool breeze off of the ocean and watching the moon rise. It's easy with Brittany, the way you don't have to say anything, and you hold her hand in the sand, watching the way your fingers lace together and everything seems to fit.

"I wish I could sleep on the beach sometimes." She tells you. "I feel free of all my burdens here."

"It's a peaceful place." You agree. "Though I don't think I'd ever become accustomed to sleeping anywhere but in a bed."

"My bed does feel better with ya in it, that's for sure."

"I never imagined how much peace sharing a bed with someone would bring me."

"I'm sorry I haven't been…intimate with ya." Brittany whispers and you squeeze her hand tighter. "I love to bring ya pleasure, I just haven't much been in the mood."

"I understand that, Brittany. I'm not rushing you to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"I just wanna heal my heart a little. I'm gettin' there, havin' ya take care of me, but at night I still feel the saddest."

"Oh, how I wish I could gather you up and take away your sorrow. I think of how I used to rock Mariana when she'd cry and my voice would soothe her. If I could do that for you, I would."

"I know ya would and it makes me love ya more. I'm gonna do somethin' real special for ya soon, just wait and see."

"There's nothing special you need to do for me. You being here on this earth is all that I need."

"I'd still like to do it, if that's alright with ya."

"It is, whatever you'd like."


	31. Now That Dream Is Here Beside Me

The heat continues to permeate through the walls of your house and while Brittany is out at sea, you find yourself down by the ocean with your books for most of the day. Though you usually try to clean and organize while you're home during the day, you find that it's too hot for that. You just need the fresh air and you spread a blanket on the sand, breathing in the ocean air each day as the temperature climbs higher and higher.

One afternoon, you're sitting down and rereading _Pride and Prejudice_ when Mercy Evans waddles down the beach. For how uncomfortable you feel, you can't imagine experiencing it when you're with child and you feel a deep sympathy for her as she approaches you. When she gets nearer, you see pain etched across her face and you immediately jump up, full of concern for her. She waves her hand to keep off the heat and you go to her side, offering her an arm to lean on as her knees buckle.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Santana, I just had nowhere else to go. I think it's my time."

"Goodness." You leave you things on the sand and study her face. "We ought to get you inside, we can't have you bringing a baby into this world on the beach."

"I'm so frightened." She confesses and you nod.

"It's alright, you're going to be just fine. I'll help you along and when Brittany comes home, she'll go for the doctor."

You don't hesitate to help her inside, bringing her up the stairs to the second bedroom. Though you helped with Mariana's birth, you're a bit frightened too and you touch the cross around your neck, praying that God gives you the guidance you'll need to successfully deliver Mercy's baby. She tells you that her pains are several minutes apart and you know there's time before the baby will come. Part of you considers running for the doctor yourself but you also don't want to leave Mercy alone in case you're wrong.

Desperately, you wish Brittany would come home. You think of her mother and you worry that if you do something wrong Mercy will meet the same fate. It's a lot to consider but you calm her down, you give her fresh water and you hold her hands through each of the pains as they come.

"I left a note for Sam." She tells you when she's in between. "I didn't want him to come home and not know where I went. I told him he ought to look for me here."

"That's sensible." You nod. "Perhaps he'll make it back before Brittany and he can go for the doctor."

"He's been working past nightfall. He says he's trying to save up all he can so he can give our baby a nice life. He grew up real poor and doesn't want the baby to go through life with too small clothes and shoes with holes in them."

"I can understand that. I wish someone could tell him it's your time."

"He wouldn't be good for much during this anyway, would he? Father's typically just hand out the cigars and sit outside the room." She clutches her stomach and screams through one of her pains. "Lord how I wish I was in a hospital right now."

"I know this may feel odd since we scarcely know each other but perhaps I should have a look?"

"Odd or not I don't care much." She shakes her head. "If you think you need to do it to make this go smoothly, then you ought to."

In the position Mercy is in, it's awfully easy to look between her legs. You know from Mariana's birth that she's not quite ready, despite the pain, and you tell her as much, giving her more water after she drops her head back down on the pillow. As her labor progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult for her to get comfortable and she screams and hollers like the Dickens. It seems like things are taking far too long and you find yourself getting concerned when Brittany comes home and Mercy still hasn't given birth.

When Brittany comes upstairs and sees the scene before her she blanches. You assume she's never been present for the birth of a child and it doesn't look pretty. She absently waves to Mercy and though you long to kiss her after your day apart, you ask her to go for Michael's brother and she doesn't hesitate to run. After she's gone though, things improve and you begin to see the head of a baby. You wish you had blankets and things prepared, but you improvise, catching the infant as she comes out and wrapping her in the softest towel you can find.

"She's here." Mercy marvels, though you worry about the afterbirth. "You delivered my baby, Santana."

"I'm just awfully glad I could help." You shrug, cheeks heating. "You're going to feel some more pains, you have the afterbirth to deliver still."

"I feel nothing anymore now that I have her." She looks down at the baby in her arms and you smile at the sight. It's a moment you'll never have, yet you don't feel envious of her. Instead, you're content to have assisted her in such a miracle and you take a deep breath as Brittany bursts back into the room.

"Doc's off on the mainland." She gasps. "I told Michael to send him quick as he comes home."

"It's alright." You tell her, gently touching her arm. "Mercy did a wonderful job bringing her precious little girl into the world."

"Wow, ya two did it all on your own?"

"It was all Mercy, I was just here to catch her."

"And to keep me calm. I sure couldn't have done it without you, Santana. You ever think about being a midwife?"

"Oh no." You laugh. "I'm perfectly content as a teacher."

"She sure is the perfect thing."

After you help Mercedes deliver the afterbirth, you step out of the room with Brittany to give her some time with her new baby. You tell her to call for you if there's anything she needs, but as she's just getting to know you, you feel it only right to give her the utmost privacy. She did so well delivering the baby and you feel this surging sense of pride that you witnessed it. In the kitchen, you feel yourself begin to shake for the first time wheat he gravity of the situation truly hits you and Brittany takes your hands.

"Ya did real good. Ya sure do know a lot about a lot of things. I can't believe ya delivered a healthy baby."

"I just remember when my mother gave birth to Mariana. It was her third time so she knew how to talk me through it. She came too quickly though, Mercy's birth was a bit longer."

"She sure is lucky ya were here. Scares me to think what would have happened if ya weren't."

"I'd prefer not to think about that. It's what she was most worried about. It's a big difficult being isolated here when it comes time for an emergency."

"It's less isolated here now than it was when my Mama had me. At least now we have a doctor, even if he's tough to get to."

"I imagine it was quite different here twenty years ago. It seems as if it's become different just in the time I've lived here."

"So many outsiders are coming. Not to say I'm not glad for it, especially for ya being here, but it's changed things havin' people not from here show us some attention. I think I'll rent out Pop's house real easy and that wouldn't've happened when I was a kid."

"And you're certain you want to do that? You don't want to sell this house and move back into your childhood home?"

"Definitely not. I built this house for ya and I want to live here. I'll have the memories of my Pop and I'll be able to walk by the house as I like. Soon as I get some of the roof work done, I'll be puttin' it up for rent."

"Alright." You nod and you kiss her lightly as there's a knock on the door. "Must be the doctor."

To your surprise, it isn't the doctor at the door, but Sam. He looks sweaty from his day at work and also frantic to find his wife. With a smile, you lead him into the bedroom where Mercy lays nursing their newborn daughter and Sam breaks into a smile. You think that you've never seen a new father look so proud and you step back out, leaving him with his family.

"We oughta cook somethin' for dinner. I imagine Mercy'll be hungry after all the work she put in bringin' that baby into the world."

"I suppose they'll likely stay here for the night. It's certainly one way to get to know the neighbors." You laugh a little, though you're nervous about someone besides your sisters staying in your home. "I can't imagine Mercy walking after she just gave birth."

"Ya likely are right. Perhaps Sam'll go home and get the diapers and things they've gotten ready for the baby."

"He seems like he came rushing over here without much thought for that. I can't imagine how I'd feel if you left me a note saying you went to seek help."

"It sure is awful scary. I'm glad I didn't see the birth, I don't think I'd have tolerated it well."

"It's a bit bloody and I'll certainly have to scrub the sheets, but it's beautiful to witness. I think it'll be wonderful having a baby nearby too."

"Ya sure do love those little ones. And they love ya just as much."

"You're one to say such a thing, I see how children adore you, Brittany. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Sam and Mercy's baby took to following you around."

"I'd like a little shadow. I sure do miss your sisters and bet they'd think it was spectacular that ya delivered this baby."

"I believe so. Carlotta and Concetta are too small to remember Mariana's birth but they have taken a liking to more babies than I can count."

"Santana?" Sam saunters into the sitting room, clearly in a daze. "I think I ought to thank you for all you did."

"It was nothing." You shake your head. "I'm glad she knew that she could come here."

"Certainly saved her. I knew I shouldn't have left her this morning, but the boss doesn't take kindly to missing a day's work. She says she wants to get on home so she doesn't put you two out, but I thought she ought to rest a bit."

"She most certainly should. You're welcome to spend the night here and then I'd be happy to check in with her for the next few days while you go to work. I wouldn't want her to feel overwhelmed by having a newborn." You smile and you feel Brittany's soft eyes on you.

"If ya want me to, I'll walk on down to your house and help ya gather things up for her and the baby."

"You two really are the kindliest neighbors. I'll talk to Mercy and see, when she gets an idea in her head, I'm hard pressed to get her away from it."

"Perhaps I should speak with her." You tell Sam and he nods, stepping back to let you pass. "Why don't you go on and start gathering things for her at home in case I can talk some sense into her."

"Sure." He nods. "Brittany, you don't mind helping me? I'm not so sure about lady things."

"I don't know much about lady things either." She shrugs. "But I think I can figure it out for ya."

They leave together and you go back into your spare bedroom where Mercy lays nursing the newborn. Hearing your presence, she looks up and smiles, almost turning the baby's face toward you. Your heart swells with pride as you see her again and you think of how wonderful it will be to watch her grow up. You hope that Sam and Mercy don't go back to the city, you think if you must have neighbors, they're good ones to have, and you sit down in the chair beside the bed, ready to convince her to stay.

"Her name is Ana, after you." Mercedes tells you and you feel tears well in your eyes. "You saved our lives."

"Mercy, you don't have to do that. I'm sure there are other family names you might want to use…"

"No, Ana's the only name that feels right. Sam agreed with me on that."

"Well thank you, that's quite an honor."

"I think she's just about done nursing, would you like to hold her?"

"I would." You nod, taking the baby who is still wrapped only in a blanket. "She's beautiful."

"I believe I may be a bit biased, but I feel the same."

"Mercy, I think you ought to spend the night. You must be exhausted from the birth."

"I won't put you out anymore than I've already done. You've been more than a good friend today."

"And I'd like to be a good friend to you now. I sent Sam and Brittany to your house for the things you'll need. Let us cook a filling dinner for you and then in the morning, you can leave."

"Well…Sam is a terrible cook." She laughs. "I'd be hard pressed to say no to a good meal. It sure must be nice living with another woman so you can share the duties. I went right from my Mama's house to Sam's so I never got to live like this. Weren't your parents afraid, sending you off alone to a place like this?"

"It was what was necessary with the war. Then I chose to stay and was offered a job as a teacher."

"I'm surprised you chose to stay. I suppose if I had a choice, I'd go back to the city."

"There were many things I fell in love with here." You tell her, leaving out that one of those things happens to be a person. "I was just eighteen when I came, so I hadn't found a life outside of my family in Manhattan."

"Just eighteen? So you're not more than twenty now." She marvels. "For someone so young, you certainly have things very much together."

"I helped my mother raise my little sisters. She and my papa both had to work, so I was around for much of their lives."

"Oh, you must miss them something fierce."

"Each day. I write letters and talk to them once a week on the phone, but we don't get to visit near as much as I'd like. You'll meet them someday soon, I'm certain. I've asked my mother for them to come out one weekend soon."

"It's so lovely that she lets them."

"The big girls do okay keeping their eyes on Mariana on the train. And Brittany or I go to pick them up at the station."

"My sister is sixteen and I'm not sure my mother would let her venture out this way on her own."

"The train is safe, the conductors make sure nothing nefarious goes on." You look down at the baby and see her little face screwed up. "She's fussing a bit, I think she'd like to go back to you."

"I'm hoping she'll sleep a bit. I want to diaper her before I let myself drift off."

"They should be back soon enough. I'll start dinner now if you'd like."

"Don't do it early on my account, I'll eat when you do."

"We typically way early so Brittany can go to bed. Her hours are so early in the morning that she's not one for staying up late, unless it's poker night."

"Oh, Sam'll be glad to hear there's poker night. She's not a typical woman, is she?"

"She certainly does things her own way." You smile fondly. "I'll leave you with Ana and I'll be back shortly."

You leave Mercy again and go into the kitchen to start dinner. It's so hot in the house that you fan yourself and decide you ought to cook on the stove rather than in the oven. You have pork in the refrigerator so once you put your beans on to stew, you cut the pork and begin cooking it. Brittany comes into the kitchen with a grin on her face and though you have company in the house, you let her wrap her arms around your waist.

"Sam said he'd help me build a dinghy over the winter, that way we don't need to borrow Davey's whenever we take an evenin' trip. He says it's the least he can do for havin' good neighbors like us."

"That would be lovely, Brittany. I know you have the Alcott, but it's been clear you've wanted something smaller since I've known you."

"Hard to woo a gal when all ya have is a big fishing boat."

"I think you wooed me just fine." You laugh and you stir the pot on the stove. "They named the baby Ana."

"Ya got yourself a baby named after ya? That's real special! And ya certainly deserve it."

"Though it's odd to have neighbors here where we were once so isolated, having Sam and Mercy reminds me of being back in the city. There's something pleasant about it."

"They're sure swell people. I don't feel near as nervous as I did when we first found out about them, I think they're real caring and won't pry too much into our business."

"Mercy said that Sam will be excited for poker nights. Perhaps she'll come along with him and can help me serve dinner."

"Ya know you're welcome to play, right? Once the winter games start up again."

"I know." You smile. "But I prefer not to gamble. I also love cooking for your friends, they're an appreciative bunch."

"Everyone around here thinks you're somethin' special. I'm the luckiest gal on this whole island."

"I think that's quite impossible, since I feel that I am."

"Let me help ya cook, anyhow."

"It's not much more than a bit of fried pork and stewed beans. It's too hot for me to cook much more than that."

"I'll need to buy us some more fans next time I go to the mainland. Seems like we just can't get this place cool enough."

"It's still cooler than in the city, that's for certain, but it's a particularly hot summer."

"I'm glad ya put an extra fan in the guest room for Mercy. I'm sure birthin' a baby don't do much to cool anyone down."

"I'd sure say not." You lean in to give her a soft kiss, appreciating just having her near. "I'm glad to have made a friend."

"I always feel sorry that your only real friend here is Kurt and he lives on the other side of the island. It'll be nice for ya to have one right next door."

"It's not that odd for me to have few friends. In school, I was sociable but never grew as close to the other girls as they did to each other. I've always been a bit of an odd girl."

"I see nothin' odd about ya, never have."

"I know, because you've seen me only with eyes of affection, but I suppose it comes from never caring much about boys. The other girls were always worried about who they'd be marrying while I had dreams of my books and of teaching school."

"And yet I'd bet ya got a ring before all any of them."

"I suppose I did." You laugh, fingering your ring beneath your blouse. "If only I could tell them."

"I sure do wish I could shout it from the rooftops. Sam asked me on our walk if I had a fella and I near laughed out loud."

"Perhaps one day they'll learn what we are to each other. It's a bit soon, I think."

"Ya sound much calmer about them knowin' than I'd've thought."

"There's something that makes me think Mercy suspects. Perhaps she knows a girl who loves another girl so it wouldn't seem odd to her. I'm not certain, but I suspect it."

"Sure would be easier if she just guessed it." Brittany shrugs. "That pork sure smells good."

"You say that about everything I cook." You laugh and you lean over to kiss her.

"Ya fatten me up, that's for certain."

"Excuse me." Sam comes into the kitchen and you startle a bit. "Do you mind if I get some water for Mercy? She's awful thirsty."

"Not at all." Your face is flushed but you try not to show it as you run the sink and fill a glass for her. "Dinner will be up in just a few minutes."

"I'll see if Mercy'll come to the table."

"It's alright if she wants to eat in bed."

"She might wish to eat with the rest of us now that she's got Ana diapered and dressed. Sure was smart of you to pin that washcloth, Santana."

"Sometimes you make do. Mercy will learn that."

"I'll learn it too, I plan to help her with the baby as much as I can."

"Ya really are a good man." Brittany grins. "Good man, good neighbor, we couldn't have asked for much more."

"I'd have to say the same about you both. You've been the kindliest sort of folks. This whole island is full of kind folks."

"We try, though there's always a bad apple or two."

"I won't let it spoil the bunch, I'm pleased with what I've seen so far."

"We're glad to have you here." You tell him earnestly. "And I mean it when I tell you that whatever you and Mercy need with your little one, we'll be there to help."

"I think you've more than proven that today."

"You didn't have to name her after me, you know. I was just doing the neighborly thing."

"Saving my wife's life was hardly just being neighborly. We're eternally grateful to you."

You just smile simply and finish with the dinner. Mercy comes to the table, leaving a sleeping Ana in bed, and you serve the pork contentedly. They're such gracious people and you're glad that they're the ones who built the house so close to yours. You feel as if they'll allow you and Brittany the privacy that you so crave but also become your dear friends. As much as you've had Brittany, you've craved a sort of friendship with someone else on this island and Mercy, as an outsider too, might be the perfect one for you to form a kinship with.

After dinner, you tell Sam and Mercy that you'll clean up and excuse themselves to the guest room to spend time with Ana. You and Brittany get things in order quickly and then go to sit out on the porch. It's so muggy out and you wish that the heat would break but there's at least a slight breeze off the ocean and you feel it on your face. Brittany reaches over to grab your hand and you smile at her, squeezing it.

"Ya must be real tired after the day you had."

"I am, quite a bit. Do you think Mercy and Sam will notice when we go to sleep in the same bedroom?"

"I think they're real concerned with Ana just now. Are ya worried?"

"Not so much worried, I think they're safe. I just don't want to startle anyone."

"We won't. We'll just go real quiet to bed. Unless ya want me to sleep in the other bedroom."

"I'd never want that, Brittany. As much as I feel concerned for the way the world doesn't understand, I'm proud to be with you."

"Ya are?"

"Of course I am. It makes me glad when we're with your friends and they know about us. Then I can touch you as much as I'd like."

"I think If we just are, it keeps us from having to tell Sam and Mercy anything. We'll let them figure it out." She grins.

"I think, my love, that's an exceptional plan."


	32. The One You Love and Live For

After Sam and Mercy take Ana home, you're surprised how much you see them. Once Mercy has recovered a bit, she comes to your door with Ana and a cake, telling you that it's the least she could do to thank you for all you've done. You smile and invite her in, pouring her a cup of coffee, getting the chance to hold your little namesake baby again when she's not freshly born. It's nice to have a friend, you think, someone who's just come to the island too and doesn't know everyone else, and when you tell Brittany as much, she kisses you and tells you she's happy you've found that.

School starts up again and you have a new batch of students in your classroom. You spend the first week learning their names, getting them to settle down after most of them have roamed free for the summer, and then you begin to teach them. It feels good not to sit home all day fussing over the house, it feels good to do something that you do well and when you come home on that first Friday, Brittany beams it you, seeing the enjoyment written across your face.

"You look awfully tired today, sweetheart." You tell her, looking where she slumps freshly bathed in the sitting room chair.

"Winds were rough and we had to stay out much later than we usually do. I brought fish home for us to cook for dinner though."

"Let me cook, you seem as if you've had a long enough day."

"I thought I might want to take ya out tonight, to celebrate your first week back in the classroom, but I'm tired to the bone and didn't think I could manage it."

"Come sit in the kitchen with me, suppose we have a beer while I cook?"

"That sounds real nice." She nods and stands up. "Weather's not supposed to be good tomorrow, I'm plannin' on stayin' in."

"I selfishly enjoy that notion." You head toward the kitchen and while she takes two beers from the icebox, you find the fish she filleted and begin to make a batter for it. "I've missed you this week."

"The boys are playin' poker at Davey's tomorrow night, but I told them I'd rather stay in with ya."

"You can go if you'd like, I don't want to keep you from it."

"I know." She smiles as she pops the caps off the bottles. "But I don't want to. I want to walk on the beach, perhaps. There's a nip in the air already, won't be much longer before we're bundled up to do it."

"I'm grateful we'll have neighbors this winter. Sometimes I felt like we didn't see a soul other than each other for days at a time last year. Not that I'd complain about being trapped in the house with you."

"I know what you're sayin'. Nice to only walk a short distance if there's an emergency."

You cook dinner while Brittany sits and watches you and then she helps you bring everything to the table. She smiles while she eats, even though her eyes droop and you realize that you can't wait to get into bed. Each night this week you'd stayed up later than her, planning things to do with your students and now that it's Friday, you don't have to. Now that it's Friday, you can fall asleep in her arms and feel the type of content that you only feel when she embraces you.

After dinner, you wash the dishes together and then you go to the sofa. She lays her head in your lap while you listen to the radio and you run your fingers through long blonde hair. It takes a few moments before you realize that she's fallen asleep like that, but you wait before rousing her. Her day had tuckered her out more than you've ever seen and you want to let her rest just a bit before you force her up the stairs to go to bed. When you finally wake her, you do it with a kiss, leaning down and gently pressing your lips to hers until her eyes open. She smiles at you and you take her hand, leading her up the stairs.

"Ya look awful pretty." She tells you as you slide out of your skirt and stockings.

"I still have a bit of chalk on me." You shrug, neatly placing your things into the laundry hamper.

"It don't matter to me, I still think you're a sight."

"You know how to make me blush." You slide the ring off the chain around your neck and onto your finger.

"I love when ya blush." She pulls back the covers of your bed and slides beneath them, waiting for you. You slip into your pajamas and unpin your hair and then you oblige her, crawling beneath the blanket and into her arms. "I missed ya this week."

"I'm sorry I stayed up so late each night. Although this is my second year, I still get nervous in the classroom."

"I sure am certain that you're the best teacher that's ever been. Ya care more than anyone I've seen."

"I just want them to love to learn, like I did."

You fall asleep not long after you finish talking, leaving _Great Expectations_ on the bedside table in favor of staying in Brittany's arms. When you wake up in the morning, Brittany's cheek feels warm against your skin and when you study her face, you see that she's pale. Her exhaustion last night should have struck you as strange, given that she never complains of feeling tired, but it's not until you realize that she's sick that you put the two things together. When you go to move from her arms, she grumbles in distaste, but you kiss her forehead, feeling how warm her skin truly is.

"My head aches." She complains, rolling over into you as you sit up. "M'whole body aches."

"I think you're sick, love."

"I never get sick." She opens her eyes and they're glassy, worrying you. "Don't go. 'S cold here without ya."

"I'm not going anywhere." You promise, tucking the blanket more securely around her as she shivers. "Just to get you some tea and some aspirin."

You kiss her head again as you skip from the bed. As much as you hate to leave her when she's ill, you need to care for her and the best thing you can do is warm her with some tea and give her aspirin for her aches. After you finish brewing the cup, you come back upstairs to find her buried completely under the quilt on the bed, despite the fact that it's relatively warm in the bedroom. Gently, you coax her out and you help her to sit up, pressing the mug into her hands before you sit down beside her.

She drinks just two small sips of the tea and swallows the pills before she pulls the covers up to her chin and lies back down. Tenderly, you pin the hair from her face and you lie beside her, feeling the pull toward her ever as you consider to leave her to rest. It pains you to see your strong, tough Brittany incapacitated by an illness and you feel your throat tighten at the sight of her so small beneath the quilt. You're glad, mostly, that it's Saturday and it storms outside your window, because you think she'd be likely to try to go out on the Alcott if it weren't a day as it was. She hates to miss a day's work, she's fiercely dedicated, so you thank God for the sound of thunder and touch the cross around your neck.

"Perhaps I ought to go for the doctor." You suggest, but she shakes her head.

"'S nothin' much. I just need to sleep in awhile and I'll be dandy when I wake up."

As she sleeps, you sit by her side. You read about Pip and Estella and Miss Havisham, constantly lifting your eyes from the book to see that she's breathing alright. After an hour or so of watching her fitful slumber, you go to make coffee for yourself and then you bring it back up to the bedroom, not wanting to be away from her for too long. Beads of sweat form on her face and you wipe them carefully with a washcloth, not wanting to wake her. Briefly, you consider unwinding her from the quilt, but she shivers beneath it and you don't want to make her suffering worse.

It's nearly noon when she wakes again and though you think it's a bit foolish that you're still in your nightgown, you hadn't wanted to put on a skirt and blouse just to sit vigil at Brittany's bedside. She cries a little when she wakes and it pains your heart to hear such a thing. Even when you'd seen her wounded twice in the past, she hadn't cried, so you think the fever must be gripping her something fierce. She fights the quilt from her body and she writhes beneath the sheets, sending a flood of worry straight to your chest.

"Brittany." You whisper, leaning over her restless form.

"So hot."

"Okay, sweetheart, I'll help you out from under the sheet."

Her nightgown is soaked with sweat when you liberate her from the fabric entrapment and her hair, even pinned, sticks to her face. Not for a moment do you worry about catching her illness yourself, you just want to care for her as she cared for you when you were sick with the mysterious illness you'd had two summers ago. She tugs at the fabric of her nightgown but she's too weak to remove it from her body. Before you help her out of it, you go to the bathroom and wet a cloth to cool her down with. Once you have her out of her nightgown, you run the cloth over her clammy skin until she shivers again and you help her into a clean gown. You tuck her beneath the covers and she falls asleep again, filled with fits and starts.

It scares you so deeply how ill she is that you have to leave her. She needs a doctor, that's for certain, but to go for Michael's brother is just such a long walk from the house that you fear she'll wake up again in your absence. Instead, you dress and you slide on your shoes to go to Mercy and Sam's house. You hope so fully that they're home, that you can ask Sam to go for Dr. Chang. You walk there and you wring your hands, fearful that they won't be home. You get to their doorstep, soaked from the rain, and you knock, waiting patiently until Mercy comes to the door with Ana in her arms.

"Santana." She smiles. "C'mon in, I'm just making lunch."

"Brittany's sick." You blurt out, forgetting your manners. "I was hoping Sam could go for Dr. Chang."

"Sam!" Mercy calls out, looking at you with concern. "Come down here!"

"Right here, Merc." He comes to the door. "Oh, hi Santana. I wasn't expecting you."

"Brittany's sick." Mercy tells him. "She needs a doctor."

"Let me get my boots on and I'll go straight away."

Afraid you may have caught what Brittany has, you don't go into Sam and Mercy's house for fear of infecting the baby. Instead, you thank them profusely and you go back home. Brittany is still in her fitful sleep when you get there and you perch on the edge of the bed. You're powerless to help her and it makes your heart ache. You twist your wedding band on your finger, careless enough to leave it on, and you wait. When there's a knock on the door, you go down and you let Sam and Dr. Chang in. Sam insists on staying to hear what the doctor has to say and you appreciate that more than you can express.

"Brittany." Dr. Chang rouses her from her slumber. "It's Guy."

"Guy." She murmurs. "What are ya doin' here?"

"You look awful sick." He opens his bag and examines her, Sam respectfully standing outside of the room. "It appears to be influenza."

"Sam, you should leave." You like to him in the doorway. "You don't want Mercy and Ana getting sick."

"You'll come by if there's anything you need?"

"Yes, thank you."

There's nothing Dr. Chang can do to treat Brittany, he just tells you to give her fluids and aspirin and to send for him if her symptoms worsen. When he leaves, you fret over her a bit, making sure she drinks the glass of water you fill for her and stroking her sweat coated forehead until she falls back to sleep. Once she's sleeping again, you busy yourself in the kitchen with a soup, but you're so distracted, continuously going up to check on her, that it's difficult to get anything done.

"Santana." She croaks our, waking from sleep once you finally get your stock to boil. "Ya shouldn't be in here."

"I won't leave you alone." You swear to her. "I'm caring for you the way you cared for me when I was ill."

"I've never been sick like this. Pop wouldn't've known what to do with me."

"I'm making you soup. I need you to try and eat something so you get your strength up."

"I can barely lift a blanket. My body feels like it has weights on it."

You think of the time all three little girls had influenza and you and your mother flew between them, spoon feeding them soup, checking their fevers, ensuring that they were comfortable. You felt so young then, but now that you're grown and it's your beloved, you feel paralyzed by concern. It can be dangerous, you know that much, but Dr. Chang hasn't seemed alarmed. Perhaps because Brittany is so strong no one worries about her, but you do. You tenderly kiss her forehead and you look into her glassy eyes.

"Perhaps you should bathe. The water may bring your fever down. I'll run a bath for you with Epsom salts."

She doesn't protest when you leave to fill the tub, nor when you help her take off another sweat soaked nightgown to get in the tub. You leave her to bathe as you gather up warm towels for her and change the linens on the bed. Then you bring extra blankets down from the closet, hoping they'll warm her up, and you make a nest for her among the pillows. She stumbles back into the bedroom and doesn't bother with a nightgown before crawling back into bed. Before you join her, you kneel at the foot and you pray, begging God to keep her safe, saying the rosary without your beads because you want God to know you truly mean it.

Saturday and Sunday pass while you fret over her and on Monday morning you're loathe to leave her to go to work. You know you must though and you kiss her goodbye, hoping she'll sleep through the day. It's difficult for you to concentrate on the children while you worry about her, but you do the best you can. When you come in from work, bone tired, having not slept in your worry, you hear the radio on. Brittany, wrapped in the blanket from the bed, is on the sofa and you smile at the sight of her.

"Brittany. You're awake."

"Ya took care of me the whole time."

"I'm sorry I had to leave you today to go to work." You sit beside her on the couch and take her hand, so glad it doesn't feel clammy any longer. "Your fever's broken."

"I warmed up some of your soup on the stove. I managed to get down a whole bowl."

"I'm so glad to see that you're getting well. You scared me when you started having fever dreams."

"I was real scared too. I didn't want to leave ya."

"You're going to be with me for a long time." You promise, studying her face. "I don't want you to fret about such things."

"Sometimes it's hard not to, but nothing scares me more than bein' in a world without ya. Ya treat me so tender and sweet and I love ya with all my heart."

"Brittany."

"I felt ya sitting by the bed the whole time. I wanted to comfort ya, to tell ya I was tryin' my hardest to get better."

"You needed all of your strength to heal and now you're out of bed."

"Ya look real tired, Santana." She strokes your face and you close your eyes under her touch. "I think ya ought to sleep."

"I'm alright. I'll sleep in a few hours. I want to cook dinner and put new linens on the bed."

"I'm well enough that I can do it."

"You need to continue to rest. I'll be just fine doing it."

She protests, following you to the bedroom. You finally consent, letting her help you pull the sheets taut and make up the bed so when you crawl into it, you'll be comfortable. She convinces you not to cook dinner, to just warm up more of the soup for the two of you. She thinks she can't eat much more than that and that you ought to sit down and enjoy the music on the radio. The gleam in her eyes is back and you feel your body relax at the sight of it. Brittany, your Brittany is well again and your fears have been relieved.

"I feel real bad we didn't have the weekend as we planned. I know ya wanted to go to the mainland for church service."

"I prayed plenty while you slept. I knew nothing else to do but to turn to God."

"I'm sorry I scared ya so much. I never felt so sick before."

"Influenza is terrifying. I've nursed the little girls through it. I've been lucky enough to only have it once or twice."

"It felt like my body was taken over. I could barely speak to ya."

"I know." You nod. "But you're here now."

"I want to lay close with ya tonight. I missed holdin' ya in my arms."

"I missed it too. Even lying beside you wasn't the same."

"I think we should go up to bed. I'm awful tired."

"I think perhaps I'll sleep tonight, knowing that you're alright."

As you go upstairs to the bedroom you hold Brittany's hand. She has the blanket wrapped around her and you can't help but smile at her. When you get into the bedroom, you smooth the blanket over the new linens and she crawls beneath. You change into your nightgown and you join her, resting your head on her chest once you're tucked beneath the covers.

"Will you wake up in the morning and go out on the boat?"

"I think I may. Ya sent word for Davey this morning but tomorrow morning I ought to join them."

"I don't want you to push yourself too hard."

"I'm not, I'm fit as an ox now. Your nursing was real good."

"You worry me sometimes, with how hard you work."

"It's the only speed I know. I'm a girl captain, I need to work harder than anyone else to prove I can do it."

"I think you've proven yourself time and again."

"Ya know." Brittany sighs. "Much as I prove myself, few people beyond my crew and Mr. Brewster at the shipyard respect me for the work I do."

"I didn't know that. You seem so well loved by everyone, I couldn't imagine you having difficulties."

"I'm loved in the community because of my Pop. I worry now that I'll just become the odd girl, with him not here anymore. That's why I've gotta work twice as hard as I used to. I need to prove myself. It's bad enough I missed two days bein' ill."

"I understand." You nod. "But I beg of you to listen to your body if it's crying out for you to stop."

"Okay." She agrees. "I will. But I'm going to go out tomorrow."

"And you'll let me run you a hot bath and cook you dinner when you get home?"

"Ya know, ya work all day too. Why are ya always fussin' over me when you're tired too?"

"Because I love you and I don't have the physical demands in my job that you do."

"I just want ya to know that I respect the work ya do as much as ya respect mine."

"I know, Brittany. But I like to cook for you. It makes me happy to do those things for you since you care for me in so many ways."

"Ya sure are the better cook. I'd rather build ya a hundred houses and have the food ya cook."

"You're silly." You laugh. "But if it makes you happy, I'll spend the rest of my life doing it."

"I never in my wildest dreams imagined having someone like you. Ya know, sometimes I thought about how bad of a wife I'd be to some fella, running off to man my boat. But with ya, it's different. We can take turns cookin' dinner and I don't have to worry about havin' it on the table every night. I can make love to ya without worryin' about doin' my wifely duty. I don't have to worry about bearin' babies, I just get to love ya naturally, without everything else that gets in between."

"I…assumed I'd marry one of the boys in my neighborhood to make my family happy. I never knew that love could feel like it feels with you. I've read so many love stories in my books but none of them compare to what loving you feels like."

"I sure am glad I lingered around outside of the bar that night. It took me awhile to get the courage up to do it."

"You?"

"Sure. Ya were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen and I never woulda known that ya might have feelings back for me. I mostly just wanted to make sure ya were safe with all the rowdy fellas but then it was like magic."

"I never knew it was an option to love another woman. We're odd girls, I'm certain of that, but we're not the only ones who exist as we do."

"I'd love ya even if we were the only odd girls in the world."

"I think to love you was inevitable for me. My body feels like it was waiting for you my whole life."

"When ya say pretty things like that, it makes me wish I had the strength to make love to ya tonight."

"You ought to be sleeping." You smile. "Your body needs to repair itself."

"I love ya, Santana. Thank ya for carin' for me."

"I'd have done nothing else."


	33. Have I Told With All My Heart and Soul

Once Brittany is fully well, you feel that you can relax in a way you couldn't in the first few days after her fever broke. You'd spent the time at work concerned that something bad would happen to her on the Alcott and each evening you'd come home and insist she sit while you cooked her favorite foods, things that would bring back her strength. But with her better, you can breathe, you don't feel the heaviness in your heart of a terrible fear. Because that truly is your deepest fear, a world without her, and you pray to God that you never have to live that way.

Your pupils at school have fallen into a good routine and you find that you have to scold them less, something you greatly dislike doing. There's a wildness about them, a wildness like in Brittany and you'd hate to break such strong spirits by coming down too hard with the discipline. But with them more well behaved, you find yourself less exhausted at the end of your work days and on a Friday evening two weeks after Brittany got well, you find yourself in your bedroom readying yourself for Brittany to take you for dinner, something she's been itching to do for weeks.

"Striper season really does knock the wind outta me." Brittany tells you when she finishes bathing. "My hands are rougher than normal."

"We'll have to rub them down tonight." You take her calloused palms and you kiss each one of them, feeling the roughness against your lips and chin. "You're sure you're up for walking back down to the docks?"

"Sure am. I've been wanting to take ya out since before I got sick, just have been so busy that it hasn't happened."

"You're sweet." You smile and you kiss her lips, breathing in the scent of Ivory soap. "Let me braid your hair for you?"

"I sure do love it when ya do." She grins, pulling on her trousers and buttoning up her shirt.

Once she's dressed, she sits cross legged on the bed and you stand behind her, gently pulling her hair into one long braid. The light from the window catches her blonde hair, making it glow and you stop to think how beautiful she is before you tie off the bottom of the braid and tug it gently, letting her know you're finished. She stands up again and she kisses your lips, making you smile against them, making you feel every bit of love you have in your heart for her.

As you walk down the beach, you hold hands. You don't think Mercy and Sam will be out and even if they are, you're far enough from their house that they won't see you. You love when you can walk hand in hand with Brittany, you love feeling like you belong so fully to each other even when you're outside the walls of her house. When you get close enough to the populated areas, she squeezes your hand and then chooses to link arms with you instead, the small sort of public intimacy you can manage as you leave the beach and walk along the wooden pathway toward the dock. When you reach the bar, there's a boisterous crowd and some of the men clap Brittany on the back as she tries to find a table for you. For your part, you wave to Arthur behind the bar and he gives you a salute, making you smile.

"Sure is busy in here." Brittany pulls out your chair for you and then sits down across. "I forgot what Fridays are like."

"I certainly didn't. I used to be bone tired when I'd leave here on Friday nights. Arthur seems to have good control of the bar though."

"Best thing ya could've done for him, recommending him to Mr. Edja. He sure didn't have anything planned for when he came back, we were all raised to be out on the sea."

"Seeing him wounded reminded me of what my father would have done had he returned like that and couldn't practice medicine anymore. He deserves to make a life for himself."

"Well from what I hear, Kitty Wilde's awful sweet on him."

"I don't know Kitty well." You shake your head. "But I certainly hope she treats him kindly."

"If my Pop's house wasn't two stories, I'd rent it to him, help him get settled. I think he's ready to move out of his Mama's house and then maybe he'd be more comfortable courting her."

"Perhaps we can help him look for a place. I'm sure there must be something that's just one story."

"Further inland there are. I know he's keepin' an eye out. After all the help the boys gave me with our house, I'd sure be ready to help Art move on out."

You talk a bit more about Arthur and then when Jacob comes over to take your order, you ask for a whiskey sour along with your fish and chips. Brittany smiles at you, glad you're relaxing, and orders a beer with her supper. It feels nice to be out of the house and enjoying each other's company and you sip your whiskey when it comes, feeling it quickly go to your head. Tucked away from it all, you quickly squeeze Brittany's hand under the table and she squeezes yours back, grinning in contentment as she does. When you finish your whiskey, you perhaps foolishly order another, even before your supper comes out and your head gets light as you drink it.

"You look awfully tired tonight." You tell Brittany. "This season makes me worry for you."

"It's tiring but it's nothin' I can't manage. Ya don't need to worry about me."

"I worry when you come home with scrapes and cuts, those fish are so big and dangerous."

"The season's almost over, then I'll be safe indoors. I think Mr. Brewster might promote me this year."

"You certainly deserve it. You work harder than any other person I've seen."

"Hey pretty gal." A young man's voice interrupts you and you turn your head to look at the unfamiliar presence. "Can I buy ya a drink?"

"I'm having dinner." You say softly, realizing you've never been propositioned before, especially in a bar. "No thank you."

"Aw c'mon, ya are just havin' dinner with Pierce, I'm sure she can spare ya."

"Leave her be, Jesse." She seethes and you can almost feel the way her anger burns as he seems to get closer into your space.

"I know ya act like a man, Pierce, but ya ain't her beau to be tellin' me not to talk to her."

"I'm telling ya to leave her be because she's asked ya to." You can feel sadness seep into her words and you take another sip of your drink.

"She's right, I'd prefer you leave me be while I have my dinner."

"One drink ain't gonna hurt ya, siss. Ya don't have to feel sorry on account of Pierce, she'll get over it."

"I'm choosing not to have a drink with you because I'm enjoying my time with Brittany and I'm not the kind of girl who takes drinks from strangers. Please leave us be."

"She's asked ya nicely enough times." Brittany stands up and you watch as she steps closer to him.

"Ya think I'm gonna hit a girl? Contrary to what ya think, ya ain't no man."

"No one ever said I was a man, Jesse."

"Well ya sure do act like it."

"Just go away. We haven't done nothin' to bother ya."

"Ya don't see yourself gettin' in between me askin' a pretty gal for a drink?"

"St. James!" Arthur wheels over to the scene. "How many times have I had to tell you to quit making scenes in here? It's time for you to go."

When Arthur finishing throwing Jesse out of the bar, calling on Jacob and Ryder to help him, Brittany sits back down. You can see that she's shaken and she moves her food around with her fork, not saying anything even when you try to engage her. The buzz you'd had from your drinks has disappeared and you pat her thigh beneath the table, wishing she would speak to you. When you finish your meal, she gets up to pay the bill and you slip into your coat, coming up softly behold her at the bar.

You walk into the night for a while before you take her hand. It's limp in yours and you hear her sniffle, making you notice that she's crying. The sound breaks your heart, she cries so infrequently and you want to gather her up in your arms. To tell her that you love her. To remind her that Jesse St. James means nothing, not when you have her. But instead, you wait for her to talk. You give her the space she needs to process whatever feelings she has.

"I forget sometimes that I'm odd." She finally says through her tears. "I don't think that I'm a man, Santana, even if I'm not much of a lady."

"I know that, Brittany." You soothe, kissing the back of her hand. "You're my gorgeous fishergirl."

"I don't want to be a man, but I want to be able to protect ya. It's not the same since my Pop died, I'm not as protected as I was and I can't protect ya like I could."

"You protected me just fine, my love. And if you couldn't have, I'd have learned to protect myself. I didn't want him anywhere near me with his lecherous eyes."

"I felt such a flash of jealousy when he looked at ya as he did. I know you've promised to love me eternally, but I still think of the things I can't offer ya."

"I've told you time and again, you offer me more than anyone else can. I'd never think of abandoning the life we've built for some stranger in a bar."

"It hurts sometimes to feel odd, when I least expect it."

"My blood boiled within me when he spoke as if you masquerade as a man. You're you, whoever you choose to be, however you choose to go about your days. I think that you're so brave doing the work no one believes women can do and you make me swoon the way you dress and carry yourself."

"Santana."

"I mean it, Brittany. I see you as the woman you are, no matter how anyone else sees you."

"I just feel...so strange. No one bothered to say these things to me when my Pop was alive and now suddenly I feel outcast."

"I worried all of my days what people thought of me, when we didn't have much money and I mended my dresses, when one of my little sisters would make noise in church, but being with you has taught me that if doesn't matter what anyone thinks. You're true to yourself in a way I can scarcely comprehend."

"Maybe it was always easy to be true to myself when no one was bothering' with me." She sighs and you feel the heaviness of her body even just by holding her hand.

"Nothing matters to me but you and I in our little house. You, Brittany Pierce, always make me feel protected and loved and I want to do the same for you."

"Ya do. I never woulda gotten through the past months if it weren't for ya. I never liked Jesse St James ya know."

"He seems awful good for nothing." You shake your head. "I sincerely hope he never offers to buy me a drink again and I hope his cruel words don't get into your head."

"I'm not like other women."

"I know you aren't. But I love you for who you are. My beautiful girl who wears britches and suspenders and sometimes curses like a sailor. I fell in love with the woman you are and I'd never ask of you to be anything different."

"Loving ya makes me feel stronger."

"You're the strongest person I know." You squeeze her hand as you approach your house. "And you're fearless. You were fearless when you kissed me, you were fearless when your built this life for us, you're fearless every day when you go out on the Alcott and live the life you were meant to live. I love you so wholly that sometimes it feels like I may burst."

Together, you go into the house and she sinks down on the sofa. It's been a long week for both of you and there's something about the privacy of your home that you both need. You turn on the radio and you leave her for a bit, going upstairs to get out of your skirt and stockings and into your nightgown. You haven't been intimate with her since the death of her father, she's told you that she was trying to heal, but you feel quite a pull to her tonight, as if she needs you to show her with more than words how deep your love for her goes.

When you return downstairs, she smiles at you, standing in your nightgown and though sometimes you feel silly coming out of the bedroom without being dressed, the way she looks at you makes you feel as if you'd made the right choice. You sit down beside her on the sofa and she turns so her knees brush yours, looking at you so intensely with those deep blue eyes of hers. You give her the softest smile and her hand finds a place on your cheek, drawing your lips to hers so she can kiss you in a way she hasn't in quite some time. You kiss her back, breathing in the softness of her mouth, feeling the way her other hand comes up to cup your breast over your nightgown.

"I want to love ya tonight." She whispers. "I miss the feeling of your skin against mine."

"I'm yours." You murmur back. "Body and soul."

You turn off the lights and the music and you follow her up the stairs to your bedroom. It's the one place in the world that's just yours and as you sit on the edge of the bed, you feel the gravity of what she's asked. She needs to feel as if she's enough for you, after what that horrid man said, she needs to see the way your body aches for hers, the way her kisses make you lightheaded and her touches make your knees weak. You'll give her that, of course you'll give her that, because you crave intimacy with her more than you crave anything else in the world.

She stands before you and she slides her suspenders down over her arms. She unbuttons her shirt and she lets it fall to the floor before she takes off her pants and underthings. You feel a bit strange with her standing naked before you while you're fully clothed, but she gently pushes you back against the pillows of the bed and she crawls over you, letting you feel the heat of her body through the soft cotton of your nightgown. Brittany kisses you again while you lay like that and you bring your arms up to wrap around her neck. You want her to know you much strength you take from her, how deeply you need her and you think of how much you'd like to touch all of her womanly form.

"I'm going to undress ya." She presses into the skin of your neck. "I want to see all of ya."

Brittany gently pushes your nightgown up and you arch your back to make it easier to slide it off of you. She takes both of your breasts in her hands and squeezes softly before she moves to slip off your cotton briefs. Her eyes remain locked with yours the whole time and you tip your head up to affectionately brush noses with her. There's always something so serious about your intimacies, but in brushing her nose you make her smile. The smile doesn't leave her face as she trails her fingers over your thighs, seeking the heat between your legs. She doesn't touch you there just yet, instead, she squeezes your breasts again, she kisses you breathless, she holds your face so the whole world is her, her, her.

"I've missed this." She tells you, lips grazing your ear.

"So have I. You're sure you're ready?"

"All I want in the world right now is to show ya I love ya with my body. I'm gonna touch ya like ya like, okay?"

"Please." You breathe, feeling her fingers inch higher until they're stroking through your wet folds.

You hold your breath as she pleasures you, two fingers grazing over the delicate bundle of nerves, two fingers slipping inside of you as your legs fall apart. She holds your gaze all the while that she touches you and though your stomach coils and your eyes threaten to close, you don't want to lose sight of her. Her long braid tickles your skin, the freckles on her face seem darker against her desire reddened cheeks and you bring your hand up to hold her cheek, wanting to touch her in some small way as your heart pounds both in your chest and between your legs. It doesn't take long for the coil in your stomach to snap and you feel her hold your body closer, knowing that you wish to have her as near to you as she possibly can.

She holds you close to her as the tremors wrack your body, but when you go to touch her in return, she takes your hand. Brittany doesn't always want to be pleasures, so many nights she aches just to hold you after she touches your body. You don't argue it, you each have your things that you prefer and you're content to curl into her arms beneath the blankets if that's what she wishes. Once you're settled in her embrace, you feel her fingers drawing on the taut skin of your stomach, slipping further up until she touches your wedding ring and your cross.

"Winter's comin' up." She says, looking out the window at the vast ocean. "I gotta get that phone company out here before then, I know ya got nervous last winter."

"I don't like knowing that you could be across the water with no way to get home. I feel safer with you near me."

"I know, love. I don't like leavin' ya when it storms, there's just no tellin' when we're gonna get hit with a big one."

"Winter is lonely on this island." You find yourself saying, though perhaps you hadn't meant to.

"Does it give ya the blues? My Pop used to say that my Mama would get them when it snowed."

"Maybe a bit." You grasp her hand where it's settled on her stomach.

"Are ya homesick when winter comes?"

"I'd be homesick for you, if I weren't with you. But sometimes I do miss having everyone gathered around the table back in the city, the girls coming in from school with their little red noses to hot chocolate. I suppose there's something about a group around the table that brings me joy on dreary afternoons."

"Perhaps ya can make it happen with Mercy. Ana's still too little to be runnin' in from the cold, but if we had them over for dinner each week, maybe ya'd feel less lonesome."

"That may be true. I don't want to to think I love you any less..."

"I get to pass my days laughin' and jokin' with the boys, ya get shut up in the classroom where ya are the only adult. I think it'd be nice to have a house full that isn't just the boys playin' poker."

"Do you ever wonder what Mercy and Sam would say if they knew how we truly love each other?"

"I think it's awful rough for them to love each other. They might understand it more than anyone else."

"I fear telling them though." You sigh deeply. "Perhaps they'll think it's unnatural and regret that they named their daughter after me."

"I'm not suggesting we say a word." She shakes her head, squeezing your hand a bit tighter. "I'm just saying that if they figured it out it might not be a big deal."

"I wonder how hard it was for them when they decided they wouldn't hide their love. Now they have a baby..."

"Makes sense that they'd choose it out here where they're far away from too many prying eyes. I think it might be harder for us to be in love if we didn't have a place to escape to."

"I treasure the home we have together. I treasure these moments alone I get with you."

"I was glad to run back here and away from Jesse St. James. He's been bullyin' me since we were kids."

"I don't understand why he has it out for you, you're so kind to everyone."

"His Pop's a mean old bastard, pardon my language, and it made Jesse mean in return. Bullies find the person most different and let 'em have it. Willy thrashed him once for it and he left me be for a while. We haven't crossed paths since before I lost Pop, I guess he just figures now that I don't have either of 'em keepin' an eye on me, he can do what he wants."

"I'm certainly glad Arthur threw him out of the bar."

"With Art, Davey and Mikey, he cant do much to me. Besides, he said he'd never hit a woman so at least he won't touch me." She shrugged, but you felt her shrink a little.

"I don't like him making you feel the way he did tonight though. I want you to know that no matter what words he says to you, you shouldn't believe them."

"I try not to let words get to me. Only words that really matter anyway are the love words you say to me."

"My heart is full of them. Whenever you need to hear such things, just come to me and I'll fill you up with them."

"I sure do love ya, Santana."

"I love you too."

You fall asleep in her embrace and when you wake the next morning, rain pounds on the window before your bed. You think of how you would have liked to have gone for some things on the mainland, but how the weather will keep you cooped up inside. It's enough that you walk to work in the rain sometimes, you think it's not wise for your health that you do it more than you have to.

Leaving Brittany sound asleep in bed beside you, you slip into your discarded nightgown and cover yourself with your robe, you go downstairs and you put the percolator on the stove. Though it's still early autumn, it's chilly in the house and you think a hot breakfast and a cup of coffee will do wonders to warm you up. Before you begin to cook, you go to the fireplace and you light it, thinking it would be nice to have the first fire of the season as the rain hammers on the big windows that surround you. Once the fire is lit, you go back into the kitchen and satisfied that the coffee is done, you pour yourself a cup and swirl thick cream in the mug. Then you set about making breakfast, cracking eggs, scrambling them and letting butter melt in the hot skillet.

You've just about finished the toast when Brittany pads down the stairs. She's already dressed in trousers and a button down shirt, though she looks a little haphazard, and she grins and you standing at the stove. In the darkest days, she brings sunshine to your life and when you take the toast from the oven, you go to get arms, accepting the warmth of her morning kisses.

"It's comin' down awful hard out there." She observes. "Glad it's not a work day for ya."

"The umbrella only protects from so much. It's bound to be a cold rain too, with the weather we've been having."

"Seems like a good enough day for ya to read out loud on the sofa. I oughta have put pajamas on instead of these clothes."

"Oh, I could never stay in my nightgown all day." You laugh a little, though Brittany seems content with that idea. "But reading does sound nice. Come eat, before it gets cold."

Over breakfast, you chatter happily with one another. You've watched her as she's slowly healed from the death of her father and though you know the pain is still deep, she smiles more easily than she has. You think of the way her father spoke so candidly to you in his last hours about who Brittany was and you think of how you'd promised never to hurt her. Even if you hadn't spoken those words to him, you wouldn't, but you think of how making that vow to him made your love for your Brittany all the more real.

When breakfast is through, you go upstairs to dress and pin your hair. You know it's silly that you do such things but your mother always taught you to dress as if company were coming over. Coming back downstairs, you find Brittany sprawled out of the sofa, music playing on the radio, and when she sees you, she stands up. Her arms open to you and you step into them, accepting her silent invitation to dance. As the rain bears down outside of your little house, you feel safe in her arms and you let her spin you and dip you, watching how her eyes sparkle.

"I love to dance with ya."

"We're good at dancing together, aren't we?"

"I've missed smiling and dancing and being intimate with ya. I feel like a fog has been over me for months and I'm tryin' to clear it." She sits down and pulls you into her lap.

"I know it's been a difficult time for you, but I'm glad I've been able to be by your side through it."

"I've gotta live. I don't know how long my life's gonna be and I wanna live every moment with ya."

"I don't like when you fret over these things." You furrow your brow and rest your head against her heart. "You're young and you're strong and circumstances are different from your family. You won't be in childbirth or go off to war, I believe that God will keep you safe because I pray for your safety every night."

"I believe in the God ya believe in because I believe in ya. Ya really believe he'll spare me from an untimely death?"

"I believe that I'm meant to live with you for decades. I believe that we'll watch my little sisters grow and start families of their own. I believe we'll see little Ana through her years with Sam and Mercy. I believe that I'll be able to love you until we're grey. Imagine the things we'll see in the next eighty years."

"Eighty?" She smiles. "We'll live to be a hundred?"

"If I can help it."

"Do ya think we'll see others like us in our time? Do ya think we'll live to see a day where I can walk holding your hand on the street?"

"That would be marvelous, wouldn't it? Perhaps in eighty years, the world will be a different place."


	34. That's Why I Want the Whole Wide World

Winter comes much earlier than you'd expected, long before the calendar says it should. You're lucky that Brittany was able to go down on the mainland with Sam and get phones in both of your houses. You feel safer as the sky grows grayer each day, as she goes off to work for Mr. Brewster, as you come home alone in the dark to begin dinner before she comes in the door smelling of wood and salt and cold. You love to be in her arms then, as if you've been apart for days, though you've just seen her in the morning. She holds you closer when it's cold, she kisses you harder and you revel in every moment of it.

Brittany is having a poker night at the house again, and this time she's invited Sam and Mercy to come. When you speak with Mercy, she frets about bringing Ana but you promise her that she can lay her down on the bed and let her sleep while the poker game is going on and you and Kurt mingle with her in the kitchen. She tells you she doesn't like the idea of gambling much and you tell her you feel the same way, but you know Brittany enjoys it and it makes you happy to cook for a house full.

Like you do each time Brittany has the boys over for poker, you cook spaghetti and meatballs. Brittany finds you in the kitchen holding your wooden spoon and she smiles at you. You stir the sauce and you open your arms to her, letting her find her proper place in them even while you're cooking. She's been setting up the extra chairs and counting the poker chips for quite a while and you find that you've missed her company in the kitchen.

"Ya always feel so warm." She tells you, pressing her hand to your face.

"I've been standing over the stove." You laugh. "Of course I feel warm."

"I just lit a fire, it's awful cold in here tonight. I hope it's alright that Mercy's got the baby."

"I'm sure their house gets just as cold as ours does. It's a bit warmer upstairs anyway."

"Are ya happy it'll be more than just Kurt tonight?"

"I enjoy spending time with Kurt, though I constantly worry that he's going to tell me he's finally decided to go off and get married. Perhaps Mercy will be a buffer for that."

"I sure do hope he doesn't. It'll crush Davey like nothing else."

"I know, love. I always hope he sees how happy he could be with David when he comes here. I forgot, I ought to take off my ring before Sam and Mercy get here."

"I'll put it on the chain for ya." Brittany unhooks your chain and you carefully slide off the ring and hand it to her. She kisses the back of your neck as she clasps the chain back on and you turn around and smile at her.

"You must be excited for the game tonight."

"I always am, maybe I'll win money to buy ya somethin' pretty."

"You don't have to buy me anything, you've already given me the most beautiful gifts."

"Ya sure are sweet. But I see ya looking over those mail order catalogues. Maybe it's not somethin' pretty, but I thought ya might like a typewriter. I see ya swoonin' over them."

"They're so expensive, Brittany."

"Ya know you're my good luck charm. If I win tonight I'm gonna buy ya one."

"Brittany."

"Ya can't argue with me. It sure would be easier for ya to type out those lessons ya do. I'd like ya to have one."

"Do you know how cherished you make me feel?"

"I sure hope I do. Ya always take care of me and I like to buy ya little things when I can."

"This is an awfully big thing." You smile a little and you kiss her lips. "But if you'd like to buy it, I won't say no."

A knock at the door interrupts you with Brittany and you step back from her, letting her answer it. You go back to stirring your pot on the stove and you hear Michael and Arthur come into the house. Almost immediately, they come to greet you and you appreciate their good manners. Michael compliments the smell of the kitchen and Arthur tells you he's been saving his appetite all day for your cooking. The compliments make your cheeks heat but make you feel pride nonetheless. Not long after they arrive, David and Kurt show up Kurt reveals in a flourish the soufflé he's made for dessert. You set it on the small table in the kitchen and he keeps you company as you finish up with the meal.

"I'm so sorry we were late." Mercy tells you when she finally comes into the kitchen bearing Ana in her arms. "Sam worked late today and he rushed to get ready to come over here."

"It's alright." You smile. "Dinner is just about ready to be served. Kurt, this is our neighbor and her daughter Ana, Mercy, this is Kurt."

They speak rapidly to each other as you pour the pasta and meatballs into a big bowl to serve. Brittany had set the table earlier while you were cooking, so when you carry the bowl into the dining room, everything is prepared. She goes into the kitchen to take beers out of the icebox and you're surprised she hasn't yet opened a bottle of whiskey. She'll save it for after dinner, you suppose, and when she offers you a beer, grinning, you accept it and take your seat.

"I know why Brittany's so sweet on Santana!" Michael taps his fork against his plate and you blanch, knowing that Sam and Mercy don't know. "Don't tell my Mama, but she's the best cook in the world."

You see Mercy tending to Ana and you wonder if she heard. Sam is digging into his plate and given his proximity to Michael, you're sure he has. From your side, Brittany gives you a look and all you can do is shrug a little. Of course Michael wouldn't have known, typically in your house you're free to express your love for each other, but still, the idea of Sam and Mercy shunning you both makes you sad. You've just found a friend in close proximity to you and you don't want to lose her. Quickly, Brittany changes the subject, but you wonder if perhaps it's too late.

After dinner is through, Brittany insists on helping you clean the dishes even though Mercy and Kurt offer as well. You tell them to relax as you go into the kitchen with Brittany. You don't talk about it, perhaps everyone can hear from the dining room anyway, but her proximity calms you as you wash each dish and she dries and puts them in the drainboard. When you're through, you know it's time for her to start the poker game and before long, Kurt and Mercy are in the kitchen with you, sitting around the small table as you make coffee.

"Ana is quiet tonight." You say as you stand by the percolator on the stove.

"She's a bit tired, she'll probably fall asleep in my arms soon."

"Did you want to put her upstairs? The guest room isn't above the dining room, so the rowdiness of Brittany and the boys won't wake her."

"I think she'll be alright here for now, if it gets to be too much, I'll walk her home."

"She's a beautiful baby." Kurt peers over at her. "I can't believe Santana delivered her."

"She was a savior. I hardly knew her when she did it, but now I'm lucky to call her my friend."

"Thank you, Mercy. I'm lucky to call you my friend too. I'll sure be glad to have you so close especially when winter comes. It gets lonely out here, especially with Brittany on the mainland."

"Is it true that Brittany's sweet on you?" Mercy asks and you freeze, looking at Kurt for some sort of help.

"Brittany and I are…sweet on each other." You say slowly. "I know it's a bit odd, but it just is."

"Okay." Mercy nods. "Everyone thought Sam and I were odd as well, so I can't say anything against it."

"We feared that you might not want to know us, knowing that."

"A lot of people wouldn't look at me any longer when I told them I was marrying Sam. I'd never be the kind of person who turned a friend away for something like that. The two of you seem awfully happy together."

"We are, very much so. I'd never known love before and then I came to this place, where I wasn't the only odd girl around."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just Brittany's friends, and her father had suspected before he passed away. I can't tell my family, they'd believe I was going against God."

"You believe deeply in God, don't you?"

"I do. I pray each night, I go to church whenever Brittany and I can make it to the mainland. At first I was terrified and would pray over and over again each time I felt something for Brittany. Now I believe that God would forgive me because love is a miracle."

"I think you're right about that. Santana, so many people told me it was an abomination that I loved a white man but I've never felt so in love as I do with Sam. He's a good husband, a good father and I can't imagine my life without him."

"I suppose society will catch up someday. You're not the only colored woman who's ever loved a white man and Brittany and I and…"

"David and I." Kurt nods.

"We go to a place on this island where people like us love openly. We're not alone."

"I don't ever want you to feel as if you're alone with us." Mercy says solemnly, looking down at baby Ana. "You don't have to fear us."

"Thank you for that." You sigh, content. "It means a lot."

Once your secret is out in the open, the conversation turns to other things. Mercy tells you about how Ana has begun to smile, Kurt talks about his work, and you feel content in your kitchen as you pour coffee for the three of you and serve the soufflé that those playing cards are uninterested in. When it begins to get late, you go out to the dining room and you see Brittany with a hoard of chips. She winks at you and you smile when she knocks back the rest of her whiskey. When the game is over, the two of you usher everyone out the door and into the cold night and when you close it behind you, Brittany gathers you up in an embrace.

"You're quite drunk, aren't you?" You laugh, kissing her lips.

"Just a little. Not too drunk to clean up though."

"We can leave it for the morning, everything is put away in the kitchen, it's just the whiskey glasses and the cards really."

"Tomorrow I'm gonna take ya to buy a typewriter. I won so much I almost felt bad takin' it."

"Mercy knows about us." You burst out suddenly, unable to keep it in any longer.

"Because of Mikey?"

"She asked and I couldn't lie. We may have to hide our love a lot, but I can't deny how deeply I care for you when someone asks me directly."

"Are ya alright?" She holds you close and you melt into her embrace.

"She understands it enough. She said that we seem awfully happy together."

"We are awfully happy together. I hope it didn't startle ya too much."

"It did a bit, but I'm alright. I'd like to go up to bed now though."

She takes your hand and she leads you up the stairs, stumbling a little as she makes her way up. You smile because you think she's extra sweet when she's had too much to drink and you sit her down on the bed so you can go wash up. When you come back, she's changed into her pajamas and she gives you a goofy grin, standing up from the bed so she can wash up as well. You pull your nightgown over your head and you turn down the covers on the bed, crawling beneath them before your legs and feet get cold. Brittany comes back into the room and she quickly crawls in beside you, opening her arms so you can find a place in them.

"Do you mind if we go to mass tomorrow evening? If we're going to be on the mainland tomorrow instead of Sunday, I'd like to go."

"Sure, whatever ya want. I know it's important to ya."

"I hate to make you sit through it, I know you squirm a bit."

"I just don't understand what they're sayin'"

"It used to upset me too."

"Really? But ya seem to follow it." She furrows her brow and you kiss it.

"I've gone for my whole life, I've learned the order of things. It's comforting to me."

"That's why I like to go with ya. I know it's important to ya."

"Thank you for that. It means so much to me." You smile and snuggle in closer to her. "Did you have a nice time tonight?"

"I did. I always enjoy when we have everyone over, seems like we're puttin' this big house to good use."

"It does feel nice to have it filled. But it also feels nice when I just have you close to me like this."

"I'm glad ya like to fall asleep in my arms, makes me sleep much better than I used to."

"Me too, love."

You fall asleep shortly after, though you're surprised you do after the coffee you had earlier. When you wake up in the morning, you're still tangled in Brittany but you slip out of her grasp to bathe and dress before you go downstairs. You'd forgotten you'd left a bit of a mess last night and you begin by putting the coffee on the stove and washing the whiskey glasses. Because you don't want to touch the cards for fear of messing up how everything goes in Brittany's poker case, you leave them and you fold the extra chairs and put them in the closet. When Brittany comes down, you've just started breakfast and she pours a cup of coffee before trying to help you.

"It's alright, it's just eggs and toast, sit down." You tell her and she listens to you.

"Ya look awful pretty this morning'." She tells you, taking in your green dress that she always seems to like you in.

"Thank you. I just thought I'd wear something nice for our trip to the mainland. I think I ought to get a new coat while we're there, mine didn't feel quite warm enough last winter."

"I'm going to call Mr. Brewster and see if I can borrow his car. It'll make things easier if ya want to do some shopping."

"That'd be really nice if he'd allow it. I think it might be difficult carrying everything around and then going to church."

While you have breakfast, you begin to make a list of the things that you and Brittany need. She says she'd like a new pair of boots and you need new stockings. It's rare you make it over there and since you're going to the department store anyway to look at typewriters, you figure you'll make use of the trip and get the things you need. Brittany never seems to need much, but perhaps if she'll let you, you'd like to buy her a few new warm shirts for the winter. She comes home from work so stiff at night and if you could perhaps prevent it by getting her to dress a bit warmer, you'll be satisfied.

After breakfast, Brittany washes the dishes and then goes in to call Mr. Brewster. He says he doesn't need his car for the day and that he'll leave his keys for Brittany at the shipyard. Once that's settled, she goes up to bathe and get dressed and you check your bureau, making sure there isn't anything else you need. When she's ready to go, you bundle up and go out into the chilly air, holding her hand with your own gloved one as you walk down the beach. The ferry is quiet when you get on it and you think that the early cold has kept everyone inside. You're glad when you get into Mr. Brewster's car and Brittany warms it up, protecting you from the elements.

The store is much busier than the ferry was and Brittany leads you toward the typewriters. She has such a grin on her face as you look them over that you long to kiss her. You think it's a bit silly that she wants to buy you such an expensive gift just because she won a poker game, but she seems to take such joy from it that you can't help but go along with it.

"I think I like this one." Your fingers graze over a green Corona with glass keys. "I don't see the price though."

"Don't ya worry about the price, I want ya to have the one ya want. I'll have them wrap it up for us."

"Thank you, sweetheart." You speak lowly and quickly let your fingers linger on hers. "Are you sure?"

"I sure am! We'll get it all set and then pick it up when we're done shopping."

After Brittany pays for the typewriter, she goes to look at boots while you make your way over to find a coat. You try on several and finally settle on a bright red Reefer coat that goes down past your knees. You're certain it will keep you warm enough and once you choose a few pairs of stockings, you go back over to Brittany who is still trying on boots. She looks up and smiles at you, twisting her foot so you pay attention to what she wears.

"They look good, nice and warm." You tell her. "Are those the ones you're going to get?"

"I think so, my feet feel real nice in them. I love the ones I've got on but they're gettin' real worn out."

"I'd like you to pick out a few warm shirts for me to buy you, to keep your bones from aching so much in the cold."

"I don't need ya to buy me 'em. I can do it myself."

"Let me, please?" You lower your voice and she nods.

Brittany is surprisingly picky when it comes to clothes and she spends a long while going through the rack of shirts. You think it must be difficult for her trying to fit her thin frame into men's clothing but she knows exactly what she's looking for and ends up choosing three shirts. Taking them from her hand, you carry them to the register with your coat and stockings and you take money from your purse to pay. Truthfully, you're glad you have the money to spare, glad that your job offers you the kind of security you never had. Your father is a doctor, but he's not a wealthy one. His work often goes unpaid because he won't charge his neighbors to be well so he and your mother work hard for ends meet. That's why you still send money home, that's why the luxuries you purchase are few and far between.

"Should we go for a drive?" Brittany asks you, once her boots are paid for and you pick up the typewriter. "Or are ya hungry right now?"

"I suppose we ought to eat first, but then we'll have plenty of time to drive before church."

Once your packages are loaded into the car, you walk across the street to the luncheonette and you sit at the counter. Brittany orders a hot dog and an egg cream and you settle on a ham sandwich and a Coca Cola. You don't talk much in the restaurant but you long to be in the car where you can hold her hand. Though you go occasionally to dinner on the island, you spend most of the time you're together at home so you think it's odd not to be touching her when she's near. Instead though, you finger the ring on the chain around your neck and you slowly chew your sandwich as she finishes her egg cream.

When the bill is paid, you go back out to the car and you take a moment to appreciate her in the driver's seat. Though it's a rare occurrence that you have a car to be in, you appreciate that she's learned to drive. You wouldn't have the slightest idea how to go about it and the idea of doing such a thing makes you nervous but Brittany looks so confident as she shifts the car into gear, pulling out of her parking spot and then seeking out your hand.

"Shopping and lunch was nice." You tell her. "I remember so many of the girls in my school would do this together all the time, but I never had the money to go with them."

"Maybe we ought to take the little girls out with us next time they visit. Give 'em a chance to experience it."

"They're still little yet, even Carlotta shows little interest in clothes beyond picking the color dress my mother makes for her."

"When did ya start buyin' clothes from the catalogue?"

"A lot of the things I have were still made by my mother and I. We'd order the patterns together so the clothes would be fashionable enough. Though I wore a uniform to school so it hardly mattered."

"It's hard to imagine ya living in the apartment with everyone."

"It feels like quite a long time ago." You nod. "I know it's a small place, what with my _abuela_ living there in addition to the six of us. But we made do. It was hardest when Mariana was a baby in the bedroom and I was studying for my high school exams."

"And ya still did real good."

"I always wanted something bigger. Mama told me from the time I was small that I was a smart girl and I should dream big. I think she always wanted me to be a teacher."

"And look at ya."

"I think of how lucky I am. Had I married a man, I would have had to give up my teaching job to stay home and care for him and the babies I would have had. Now I get to go to work each day and shape the minds of children and still come home to my greatest love."

"I can't imagine ya ever spending your days at home. Ya love going out to work. I don't think I could imagine havin' to stay home for a husband either. I wouldn't make a good wife to one."

"You certainly make a good wife to me."

"I suppose we're suited more to women than men." She shrugs.

"I think that's the truth. My mother would take odd jobs to help pay the bills at home but each evening, she would still have the apartment clean, dinner cooked and each of us girls looking presentable when my father came up from his office. I prefer that you and I do things together."

"I think ya cook a lot more than I do though. Ya certainly are better at it."

"I like to cook for you, but you always help with the dishes. My father would always go smoke his pipe after dinner was done and my mother and I would stay in the kitchen to clean up. I suppose Carlotta and Concetta help her now that I'm gone, though I hate to think of them doing that instead of focusing on their studies."

"It's so kind of ya to fret after them when I'm certain ya were doing the same thing at their age." Brittany squeezes your hand.

"It's true, I was."

"Are ya sorry you're not there to help?"

"No, I'm very content with you. I just worry after them because I spent so much time helping to care for them."

"When they visit us I'm sure ya won't let them do chores. I see how ya always let them run free."

"I didn't always get to do that. When I lived with them I had to make sure they were well mannered and working on their studies. It's nice for me now that they see me on a little vacation."

"Ya really are somethin' good." She tickles your wrist and you smile. "I mean it."

"You're just as good. When I think of you with them it makes me immeasurably happy."

After a bit, you both get quiet and Brittany just drives. You like the rumble of the car, you like watching the trees pass you by, you like the way Brittany is always so confident behind the wheel. You're glad there are no cars on the island but you like to have this opportunity to sit beside her in one. When you've circled back around and you're back in town, Brittany stops to get gas. She grins at the man who pumps it and he cleans the windshield. She's always sure to give things back nicer than she borrowed them and you think Mr. Brewster will greatly appreciate it.

The church parking lot is already filling up when you get there, but Brittany finds a space. When you walk inside, she's learned to mirror you when you dip your fingers in Holy water and genuflect. You slip into a pew and she kneels beside you as you pray. When you're through, you sit back in the pew and you wait for mass to begin. You appreciate the quiet reflection time in church, you appreciate that Brittany understands it, and when the Priest comes to the altar, you give a contented little sigh.

As you've done in the past, you neglect to take communion and just kneel in prayer instead. You're no longer praying for God to forgive you for loving Brittany, instead you just pray for her well-being, the well-being of your family and the strength to carry out the good deeds you try to do in live. When mass is over, Brittany looks relieved and you give her a small smile. She'll never know how much it means to you that she sits beside you in church, no matter how much you tell her afterward. You're in quiet reflection in the car and she pulls up in front of the shipyard in no time. Once the packages are unloaded, she takes the keys to leave inside and then you walk together to the ferry.

"Are ya gonna try out your typewriter tonight? I'll cook dinner so you can." She tells you as you're walking down the beach.

"I would love to do that if you wouldn't mind. We can set it on my desk in the sitting room."

"What are ya gonna type?"

"I'm not sure yet. I can't imagine typing a letter to my mother, certain things are better done by hand."

"I think the little girls might like it if ya included a typed page for them. Ya can still write to your mama by hand."

"That might be a good idea." You nod. "I'm excited to try it out, I think I'll likely be a bit slow with it."

"Well ya got all the time in the world."

You get back to the house, but before you can use the typewriter, you know you ought to put your new things away. Brittany leaves her old boots outside and puts her new boots by the door and you hang both the coat you're wearing and your new coat in the closet before you go upstairs to put your stockings away. When you're finished, you open the typewriter case and situate it on your desk. It looks so shiny and new that you're nervous to break it. But Brittany encourages you and you sit down and type out the date. Then you carefully press the keys and _My Dear Carlotta, Concetta and Mariana_ appear on the page.

In the letter, you tell the little girls all about the things you've been up to. Even though you have the phone in the house now, it's expensive to call them, so even when you get to talk to them, it's brief. In a letter, you can tell them all about the new seashells you've found, about the silly games you play with your students, about Brittany, and you appreciate that. You think they'll love to see the words typed out so it's easier for Carlotta and Concetta to read than your own hand and when you pull the letter, you feel so satisfied with it that you seal it in an envelope and put their names on it. Tomorrow, you'll write to your mother separately, but this is just for the girls.

When you finish sealing the envelope, you go in the kitchen and see Brittany standing at the stove. She's cooking two pieces of fish and you wrap your arms around her waist and stand on your toes to rest your chin on her shoulder. You can feel her smile and it makes you smile in turn. She feels warm and safe and like home and you relish these little moments where everything feels domestic and content.

"Are ya done typing? Sorry it took me awhile to start dinner, I was checking on things outside since there's supposed to be a rainstorm tonight."

"I'm all finished, and there's no rush. We have the whole evening."

"I thought ya might be tired after being out all day." She turns in your arms and kisses your lips.

"I'm not, I just thought we'd read a bit after dinner. We're nearly done with _Great Expectations_."

"I just want to know what happens with Pip now that Magwich is his benefactor."

"You'll learn tonight." You tell her, so excited that she's learned to find as much joy in stories as you do. "I don't mind staying up to finish."

"I'd be really happy doin' that if ya don't mind."

"I don't mind at all."


	35. Oh, Love You More Every Day

Each day, the weather gets colder and you find yourself baking potatoes in the morning to put in yours and Brittany's coat pockets like your mother used to do when you'd have to walk to school when it was bitter. Though it was cold last winter, it seems to be nothing compared to this and Thanksgiving hasn't even arrived yet. Each night, when you get home from work, you light a fire in the fire place and turn on the oven, hoping the extra heat will radiate upstairs so your bedroom is warm when you retire to it. So far, it seems to be working and you're glad for the moment you curl up beneath the covers in Brittany's arms.  
On a particularly cold day, the week before the Thanksgiving holiday, you come home and go about your routine. You know it will be a few hours before Brittany gets home, but you put a roast in the oven and you sit down at your typewriter to plan your lesson for the next day. When you've just begun, the phone rings and you go to it. You think that perhaps it's your mother, calling to check that you and Brittany will still be visiting for the holiday, so you have a smile on your face when you answer it.

"Hello?"

"Santana, it's David."

"David." Your heart drop down to your stomach and you sink down into the chair by the phone. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm at the hospital with Brittany, she had a real nasty fall at work."

You take a deep breath, trying to stave off the tears that threaten to form in your eyes. More than anything, you know that you have to remain level headed and you ask David to tell you the name of the hospital. He promises you that he'll be in the waiting room until you get there and you thank him profusely, so glad that Brittany is not alone. As soon as you hang up, you turn off the oven and slip into your shoes and coat, moving as quickly as you can as you walk down the beach. You want to catch the soonest ferry you can and you're nearly running on the sand, no matter how unladylike it may be.

When you make it to the ferry, you find a corner away from everyone else and you begin to weep. You hate that Brittany works jobs that are so dangerous, you hate that you can't keep her safe, and you hate that you can't be to her more quickly. You know that you'll be stationed in the waiting room when you get to the hospital anyway, but the idea of being in the same building with her makes you feel more calm. You want to be at her side, you want to take her home with you and care for her like you have the other times she's been injured.  
When the ferry finally docks on the mainland, you find a taxi that will take you to the hospital. The sky is dark, but as the streetlights whir by, you take out your compact mirror and try to fix your face. You don't want to walk into the hospital all tear streaked and make everyone nervous, so you do what little you can with what is in your purse. It feels like an eternity since you got the phone call, but finally, you're pulling up in front of the hospital and you pay the driver before stepping out and rushing in the door.

"David." You take a breath when you see him. "Have you heard anything?"

"No. I've just been waitin' here hopin' she walks out. Her arm was real bad, Santana."

"I'm sure they'll fix it." You reassure him, though you think you might need reassurance yourself. Brittany works with her body, she needs her body to be working, and you worry about the type of injury an arm can sustain.

Because neither of you has much to say, you and David sit in silence. You watch the clock, counting the minutes that go by, thinking of how long it took you to get there and how's she's been behind the door for too long. Then finally, when you feel like you absolutely can't stand it any longer, Brittany steps into the room and you breathe such a sigh of relief. Her eyes are glassy and red and her arm is cast, held close to her body by a sling. Had she not been hurt, you'd have wanted to throw yourself into her arms, worry wracking your body, but instead, you just stand and approach her slowly.

"Ya came all the way here?" She looks surprised and you nod.

"David called me, I've been worried sick."

"I was gettin' some tools down from the loft and I had a real bad fall. Doc says I'm lucky all I did was break my arm."

"Brittany." Tears run down your face and she reaches to wipe them away with her good arm.

"I'm alright, Santana. Ya know I can make it through anything."

"I know, but—"

"I just want to head on home."

David calls a taxi and he takes the front seat so you can sit in the back with Brittany. You think that the doctor gave her some sort of medication for her pain because even on the short drive, she keeps nodding off. When you get to the ferry terminal, David comes around back and lets her lean on him as you board. On the bench seat of the ferry, you sit as close as you possibly can to her, stroking her good arm as she goes in and out of sleep. Though you tell David you can get her home okay, he insists on walking her home with you and when you get to the house, he helps her up the stairs.

You thank David profusely and he leaves you with Brittany sitting on the edge of the bed. As carefully as you possibly can, you undress her and help her into her pajamas. Once she's under the covers in bed, you go to put her clothes away and you find a pill bottle in her pocket. You put the bottle on her nightstand and then you sit beside her on the bed, holding her hand and repeatedly kissing her forehead. It's obvious that she's in a lot of pain by the way she holds her arm close to her body and you wish that there was something you could do, wish that you could take the pain away from her. Before you know it, you're weeping again and you notice that the tears fall on Brittany's face.

"Sweetheart, ya don't have to cry. I'll be good as new before ya know it."

"I know, but it scares me when you get hurt. It reminds me that you do dangerous jobs and I couldn't bear to lose you."

"I'll try and be more careful. Mr. Brewster wasn't real happy that I was up in the loft again."

"Again?"

"He told me last time that I ought to leave it to someone else, but I didn't want anyone to think I couldn't do it just because I'm a girl."

"Perhaps no one should be up there if it's that dangerous." You sigh and wipe your tears from her face.

"Just lost my footing is all, it coulda happened to anyone. Doc says I'll be out of work for six weeks, I think I might lose my mind."

"Brittany, I don't want you to do anything that could cause you to get more injured. If the doctor says that you're to stay home, you ought to."

"I don't need to stay home, I just can't go into work. We're still gonna go to your mama's house for Thanksgiving next week."

"I don't know if that's the best idea."

"Ya can't keep me shut in here, Santana. I'll be just fine takin' the train."

"Perhaps we shouldn't talk about it tonight, you need to rest."

"I don't want ya treatin' me with kid gloves just because I broke my arm."

"Brittany, you broke your arm four hours ago. Forgive me for being a bit shaken up. I don't think we ought to be discussing what we're going to do for the holiday, I think if we're going to discussing anything at all, it ought to be what you need to do to heal." Your heart pounds in your chest and you close your eyes, trying to shut out how angry you feel that she's taking this so lightly.

"I don't need to be coddled. I don't want ya to treat me like an invalid just because I got hurt."

"I'm not treating you like an invalid, I'm rightly concerned."

"Ya have been lookin' forward to Thanksgiving for weeks and so have I. We're goin'."

"I don't want to argue with you. I really think perhaps we should talk about this in the morning."

"Fine. I think I ought to sleep."

You can tell that she's upset with you, but she closes her eyes and doesn't say anything else. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long while and then you finally get up. Going downstairs, you discard the ruined roast and you make yourself a sandwich with the cold chicken in the ice box. Your stomach feels like it has a ball of lead in it and you can hardly stomach the food you try to put down. You never argue with Brittany, but it feels like the two of you are at an impasse and you couldn't discourage her from going to sleep, especially because you were the one who suggested it in the first place.

When you finish your sandwich, you wash your dish and go into the sitting room. You turn on the radio but it can't keep your attention, so you turn it off. You open _The Sound and the Fury_ but you only manage to read a few pages before you become distracted from that as well. Eventually, you decide to go up to bed and you bring a glass of water up to put on Brittany's nightstand in case she needs to take one of her pills during the night. You wash up and change into your nightgown and climb under the covers. You know that Brittany couldn't hold you even if you hadn't quarreled, but the distance between the two of you in bed feels like miles.

You wake up in the morning and Brittany is still asleep. Even after you bathe and dress for work, her soft snoring continues. It saddens you that you'll have to leave without saying goodbye but you go downstairs, drink your coffee and eat an egg on toast before you walk out into the frigid air. All day you're distracted and because you left your lesson plan half done when you raced out to go to the hospital, you struggle to fill the time in your day. The students don't notice it though and you're glad for that. When you let them go for the day, you're quick to leave your classroom and you're quick in your step to get home.

When you get there, you smell pork cooking and you go into the kitchen. Brittany is using her left hand to stir a pot of beans and you take a breath. You know that she's incapable of resting, but you wish she would have let you make dinner. She turns around when you hears your footsteps and she shrugs sheepishly. All the frustration you'd felt last night melts away and you step toward her, wanting to embrace her but not wanting to hurt her.

"Hi." You murmur, stepping into her space.

"Hi."

"You're cooking."

"I don't want ya to get mad at me again. I just got real stir crazy and figured I could make ya dinner."

"I'm not going to get angry with you. I'm sorry if I made you feel worse last night. I was just really scared and I want you to be well."

"I'm sorry I got angry with ya too. I took care of myself for so long and I never had anyone tellin' me to watch myself. I never got treated like a baby, even when I was one, and it made me feel real frustrated."

"I don't want to treat you like a baby." You tell her. "I want to treat you like my wife who I'm worried about. I've seen lots of bone breaks in my father's office. If you don't let them heal right, you can have a permanently damaged limb. All I want is for you to be cautious."

"I'll try to be. I just don't know how to be still. This isn't like my head or my foot, where it was just a few days. Six weeks is a real long time. It means I can't go back to work until the new year comes. Workin's in my bones."

"I know it is, but the best thing you can do now is rest. If you really think it will do you well to go see my family next week, then we'll do it."

"I'll be needin' to get out of the house by then. But I hate that I can't pick up the little girls."

"They'll understand." You smile a little and manage to get the spoon out of her hand. "Now sit, let me finish up."

"My arm is hurtin' somethin' fierce. I thought it'd stop by today, but I keep takin' those pills."

"After dinner you ought to lay down. You'll let me take care of you?"

"Okay." She nods and your smile widens.

"Thank you."

For the next week, Brittany tries to putter around the house because she can't sit still and every night you come home to her feeling a lot of pain. You hope what the doctor gave her really helps and you think that if Brittany will let him, you'd like to have your father look at her arm. You know that she went to a hospital and all should be well, but still, you'd feel better just knowing that your father verified that she was okay.

On Wednesday afternoon, school closes early and you go home to get Brittany and your things. Because Brittany can't carry anything, you packed one valise to share and there's something oddly intimate about packing your clothes alongside hers. When you come in the door, she springs up from the sofa and you know she's anxious to go. She never stops moving, ordinarily, and while you savor the summer days where you don't go to work, she is up early and out the door fishing. Winter is hard enough, you think, but her being forced to be inside for it is even harder.

Once the house is closed up, you walk together down the beach and she holds her arm close to her. She's so stubborn sometimes that you think she's really hiding just how much it hurts her. But you let her have her pride, you won't say anything about it until you're settled into your parents' house. If you know your father, you're certain that he'll mention looking at her arm before you can even suggest it to Brittany and perhaps he can lessen her pain.

She's quiet on the ferry and quieter still on the train. You truly hope that this trip isn't taking too much out of her and you long to squeeze her hand. If it gets to be too much, you'll go home before Sunday. You want her to know that but you don't want her to think that you're fussing too much. Perhaps you'll tell her later in the quiet of your childhood bedroom when the little girls have fallen asleep. She won't be able to get frustrated then and if you say it softly enough, she'll know that you're just expressing your genuine concern. But you know that she's already sad that you've said no to taking your sisters to see the balloons. You think the walk is too much, you worry that she'll be jostled, you think it's just better to sit by the fire while you help your mother peel potatoes.

"I can't wait to see your family." She murmurs when you're just about to the city. "It's been so long."

"It has. I miss them so terribly. Thank you for saying we should still come.

"I'll feel better when I'm around everyone."

"Brittany?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think perhaps my father can take a look at your arm?" You ask, though you hadn't planned to. "Just to make sure it's alright."

"I don't know how he'd manage with this cast on."

"I didn't think of that."

"I don't want ya to worry, Santana. It'll heal right nice and the pain'll go away."

"You've been having trouble sleeping, even with the pills."

"I just can't get comfortable. It's in my way. I'd like to be able to lie with ya in my arms and instead I'm stuck lyin' on my back."

She gets quiet again and you don't interrupt her solitude. Instead, you see the city come into view and you smile. As much as you love your little island, there's still so much joy in seeing the place you called home for most of your life. The train pulls into Pennsylvania station and you take the valise and escort Brittany off the train. Outside, you find a taxi and the driver takes you right outside of your parents' building. You see the light on in your father's office on the ground floor and as much as you'd like to see him, you assume he's with a patient and don't want to interrupt. So instead, you and Brittany walk up the stairs and Mariana is waiting with the door cracked open.

"They're here! They're here!" She cries out and the door swings open violently. She runs into your arms and you scoop her up, breathing all of her in. "Mama said Brittany got real hurt."

"She did, you'll have to be gentle with her."

"But I'll still play with ya, don't ya worry."

Carrying Mariana, though you know your mother will see she's too big for that, you go into the apartment. Your grandmother is sitting by the fire knitting and you set Mariana on her feet so that you can kiss her hello. She doesn't say much, she never does, but Brittany greets her and she smiles. Carlotta and Concetta run out of the bedroom and you bend down to them, letting them embrace you. Brittany tried to hug them quite awkwardly but they're so gentle with her that you feel your heart burst. The apartment smells like pernil and tamales and you know your mother is in the kitchen preparing for your arrival.

" _Mija_." She comes into the sitting room holding a fork and you fall into her embrace. "Brittany, it's so nice you could join us again this year."

"I'm very grateful for ya to have me. I've been lookin' forward to it a whole lot."

"Brittany! Brittany!" Mariana shouts. "Come see what I got!"

Excusing herself from your mother, Brittany follows Mariana off to the bedroom. Carlotta takes your valise to bring in there and you follow your mother into the kitchen, washing your hands so you can help. There's a _tres leches_ cake on the counter and you think that your mother has really gone out of her way this time. It's been too long since you've seen her, but you easily fall back into a comfortable rhythm in the kitchen.

"I was surprised Brittany was able to come. You said she's quite injured."

"She insisted upon it and if she hadn't, I'd have felt I should stay home and care for her." You tell your mother, not quite lying, though you wouldn't have wanted to spend Thanksgiving without her. "She's in quite a bit of pain, I was hoping Papa could look at her arm, but in the cast, he won't be able to see."

"I'm sure the doctors did just right by her. Perhaps there's something more he can give her for the pain though."

"She's so proud, she won't complain."

"She's had quite a difficult year. It must be difficult for her to be without her father at the holidays."

"Holidays weren't much in Brittany's family because her father always worked. She appreciates the company of our family quite a bit though."

"She's always welcome, _mija_. She makes a lovely guest and the girls are so fond of her. Now tell me, how is your teaching going?"

"Very well. I've made so much progress in just a few short months with these students. I've also noticed that they're coming to school more often."

"When I was a child, I'd have to stay home from school rather often to help my mother. I never wanted that for you girls and I'm glad these parents are wanting that for their children too." Your mother smiles and opens the oven. "It was much different back when I was a girl."

"I'm so very grateful that you and Papa sent me to such a good school and that now I can pass on my knowledge to others. How are the girls doing in their studies?"

"Concetta has fallen a bit behind, but Carlotta helps her immensely. Mariana is smart as they come, like you when you were her age."

"Mama." You smile and peer into the pot with the tamales.

"I know the Bible teaches that you shouldn't be prideful, but you've made so much of yourself. Is there perhaps a gentleman that might make a fine husband for you?"

"No gentleman. I don't spend much time among them."

"I suppose you're busy with work. I'd just like to see you happy, _mi amor_."

"I promise, Mama, I'm so very happy."

You cook by your mother's side for a little while and then your father comes upstairs. He still has a limp and you try not to frown when you see it. When he hugs you tightly, you relax into his embrace and you bring him a drink from the kitchen when he sits down in his chair. Brittany is keeping the little girls busy, but you peer into the bedroom to see that Mariana has her whole treasure box spilled out on the floor, showing Brittany all of her finds.

"Santana! Are you still helping Mama or can you come play?"

"I can take a few moments to play, but dinner is just about ready." You smile at her and look over to the bed where Carlotta is reading out loud to Concetta. "Girls, one more chapter and then Mama will be calling us for dinner."

"Okay, Santana." Carlotta nods seriously. "We're at a really good part."

"Santana." Mariana grabs your sleeve. "You have to see the shiniest penny in the whole world."

"Where did you get that?" You ask her, smoothing your dress as you sit with your legs tucked under you on the floor.

"Papa got it and he gave me it for my collection. See how shiny?"

"That is really shiny, and you're very lucky. Is that what you wanted to show Brittany."

"Yes! I knew you'd have to help Mama but I wanted to show you too."

"Well I'm here now. And Brittany and I brought you some new sea glass for your collection."

"Sea glass?" Concetta's head pops up from focusing on Carlotta's reading.

"Don't ya worry." Brittany grins. "There's plenty for everyone."

After you take the sea glass out of your valise and distribute it among the girls, you know that it's time for everyone to wash up for dinner. You help Mariana put her treasures back in the box and then you usher her off to the washroom. Brittany straggles behind a little and you can see the pain in her eyes. You long to kiss her and make her feel better but you can't, so you just find her pill bottle and remind her to take another. She swallows it down in the washroom and then she sits beside you at the dinner table, her bad arm resting against the table.

"I heard you were awfully hurt, Brittany." Your father says, once Grace is finished.

"Truthfully, Mr. Lopez, I'm real lucky. I fell from a loft and only broke an arm so someone was watchin' out for me."

"That is especially lucky. I've treated patients who have had lesser falls than that and have had several broken bones. How's your pain?"

"It's manageable. I've been takin' pills for it."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to have a look at what your doctor gave you after supper."

"Of course." She nods, ducking her head a little. "If it's no trouble. I was real lucky to have Santana around to help me the first few days."

"She's a good girl, my little Santana." Your father beams in your direction. "And you've been right good to her."

"We're good to each other, sir."

"And they have the best house!" Carlotta chimes in. "When I'm bigger, I'm going to live on Fire Island too."

"All my girls, ready to leave me." Your mother sighs.

"Mama, you know you're welcome to visit Brittany and I whenever you like. We don't mind sharing a room so you can have a bit of space."

"Oh, someday I will. It's just a bit much right now." She shakes her head and you know that she means caring for the little girls, you father and your grandmother that she has to do alone now. "But the girls tell me it's lovely."

"The house is a bit far down the beach, but it's much closer to school than it would be if I were still living in the apartment above the bar. And now that we have our neighbors it's even lovelier." You smile, looking across the table at Brittany.

"It's been so long since I've not had neighbors on top of me." Your mother sighs. "Your whole life you've never had that, Santana."

"I found that I was a bit lonely for it, but now that Sam and Mercy are just a short walk away, it's nice. Especially with winter coming, it's so isolated where we are."

"It sure is nice havin' them." Brittany chimes in. "Sam helped me by puttin' in the storm windows the other day since I couldn't do it with my arm and Mercy brought the baby to play."

"It must be nice having a little one around." You mother looks off dreamily. "All my girls are getting so big."

"I'm still little enough, Mama." Mariana wiggles in her seat.

"That's true, _mija,_ you are."

"It ought to be time you have one of your own, Santana." You grandmother speaks for the first time, addressing you in English, which surprises you.

" _Abuela_ , I'm very happy as I am."

"You'll never be happy enough until you have a husband and a child."

After she speaks, your father changes the subject. You're grateful to him for that and you quietly eat your pork. You hope so much that it's not bothering Brittany but you don't dare give her a glance across the table. When everyone is through, you get up to clear the plates, telling your mother to have a rest tonight, and when Brittany offers to help, you shake your head and tell her to continue her conversation with your father. You stand alone in the kitchen and you clean the plates, thinking about how deeply what your grandmother said upset you. It's not true, there's nothing that could make you happier than your love for Brittany, but you can't explain to them why you've chosen not to get married.

When you're through with the dishes, you go into the sitting room to find Brittany and your family. Brittany is sitting on the floor playing Sorry! with the little girls and your mother is turning on the radio. You find a place on the sofa and lean back. Your grandmother has gone into her room like she often does after dinner and you're glad for it. You're quiet as you watch them play on the floor, just listening to the music on the radio. Your mother has out her knitting and your father reads his newspaper, much like they both did when you were living at home.

"This is the last game, _mijas_." Your mother says after a while and you think you'll go to bed when they do. You're tired from traveling and you'd like to speak with Brittany in the darkness of the bedroom once they have gone to sleep.

"Mama, can Santana read to us?" Concetta asks, leaning in her hands.

"Not for too long, I'm sure she and Brittany are tired from their long trip."

"Santana!" Mariana cries out. "We didn't start _Betsy and Billy_ without you. Carlotta said we should save it to only read with you."

"Well hopefully then we can get a bit of it read this weekend and save the rest for when you come to visit Brittany and I." You smile, thinking how much you love that you still mean so much to the sisters you left behind. "Come now, little one, let me help you change into your pajamas and wash up for bed."

"Santana! I know how to put on my own pajamas." Mariana giggles.

You usher Mariana off to the bedroom whole Carlotta and Concetta clean up the game and you say goodnight to your parents, figuring you'll stay in once the girls are settled. While Mariana is in the wash room brushing her teeth, you change into your pajamas and then take your turn in there. She's just cuddling up into bed with you when Brittany comes leading the other two girls. While they all get ready, you snuggle with the baby, giving her the time that she craves and then when Carlotta and Concetta get into Carlotta's bed and leave Concetta's for Brittany, you begin reading. Brittany listens with attention just as rapt as the little girls and you smile seeing her like that.

"Just one more chapter, please, Santana?" Concetta begs, but you close the book.

"There's always tomorrow, but tonight we ought to go to sleep."

You lie awake with Mariana sleeping on your chest while you wait for Carlotta and Concetta to fall asleep. Once you hear the soft snores from their bed, you turn to Brittany who is lying awake and facing you. You can see the grimace of pain on her face and you know that she's been fighting the expression of it all day. You long so much to hold her in your arms but you know that you can't do you just begin to speak softly to her.

"What did my father say about your pills?"

"He said he might have somethin' that'll help a little more. The pharmacist isn't open until Friday though, so I'll have to live with this until then."

"I don't like seeing you in so much pain."

"The distraction was real good today." She promises you. "I sure am glad we came."

"Even with my grandmother?"

"I know ya aren't the one thinkin' those things. She just wants ya to be happy, but I know I make ya happy. I wish ya wouldn't fuss so much, I knew ya were stewin' in the kitchen."

"I just needed a moment to catch my breath. She doesn't say much, but when she does, it startles me."

"I imagine so. But I love ya a real lot, Santana. I wish it wasn't so hard for ya to have to hide, does it hurt ya to come here?"

"No, I love to see my family and I love the way they've embraced you. I just wish I could be honest and tell them you're not my landlady and more than my friend."

"I know ya do, but at least it's for the best that they let me come. They mean so much to ya that I wouldn't want ya to have problems."

"I couldn't bear to lose them." You sigh. "I love them all so much."

"I know ya do. It's so good to see ya among them. It gives ya a special brightness."

"These little girls have my heart." You hug Mariana closer. "If only there were a way I could see them more."

"Ya know, I could look around at jobs on the wharf in the city if ya really had your heart set on movin' back."

"No, I want to stay on the island. You have the Alcott and your crew and I love our home. I just have to make a point to have the girls out more, if my mother would allow it. Money is really tight and she doesn't like to take money from me to pay for their trips."

"Maybe we could just pick up tickets when we're on the way back, send 'em in an envelope so they have a way to get to us whenever they'd like."

"That's not a bad idea. I'd like to have them out in a few weeks since I won't see them for Christmas."

"Ya sure you don't want to come here?" She asks softly.

"It's alright, I don't want you to travel so much with your injury and I had such a nice Christmas with the Karofskys last year. I think we ought to keep up the tradition."

"As long as that's what ya want. I don't want to sadden you in any way."

"You never sadden me, Brittany. You do whatever you can to make me happy."


	36. But When She Gets Weary, Try a Little Te

Each day, you come home from work in the bitter cold to find Brittany stir crazy. She struggles to keep herself busy without the use of her arm and you worry after her when she seems to be taking on too much. Little things keep getting done around the house and though you don't want to make her angry by telling her she shouldn't do them, sometimes you gently remind her that the doctor had said she should be resting. Mostly though, she scoffs at the notion that she should just rest, her body is always in motion, and you feel for her, truly.

Just before Christmas, the first snow of the season arrives. Me. Woodhull comes into your classroom halfway through the day to tell you that you're to send everyone home. You button coats and tie hats and you send your little ones off into the weather that has turned increasingly ominous. Once they're out the door, you pack up your things and button your own coat to brave the storm. It's difficult to get home with the wind, but you manage and you sigh a little when you get home and see that all of the shutters have been secured without your help. Brittany is sitting on the sofa worrying her hands together and you unwrap yourself from your winter things.

"I was real worried about ya, I was about to go down to the school and make sure that were lettin' ya out."

"I just had to get the little ones off. I worry so much about them walking home in this weather."

"Least they got out before the storm really started. Looks like it's gonna rip through here."

"I ought to call over to Mercy, make sure they have enough of what they need. We're pretty well stocked up over here, I don't worry about us so much when the storms come and we're tucked away together in the house." You smile, thinking that as hard as Brittany's injury has been, you're grateful that she doesn't have to get home from work on the ferry today.

"Sam came by earlier, he stayed home from work today and did the shutters for us, he said they're real fit over there."

"I'm so glad that Sam did the shutters, I'd been worried when I saw them that you did it."

"I am tryin' to take it real easy this week. I think ya were right when ya said I was pushin' it. My arm's been hurtin' and I don't want any more time I've gotta be out of work." She shakes her head and once you finally have your heavy boots off, you go to the sofa to kiss her.

"You did build a fire though, and it's nice and warm in here."

"I figured I'd bring one of the warm blankets out of the closet later to put on the bed, I know if gets awful cold upstairs."

"If the storm is really going to be that bad, that would be best. I ought to get on cooking a stew so it has time to simmer, and perhaps a loaf of bread."

"I'll never say no to your stew and bread." Brittany grins. "How about while ya do that, I make ya a sandwich for lunch?"

"That would be good. Thank you."

While Brittany works on preparing hot turkey sandwiches with the leftover gravy, you prepare your bread dough and leave it to proof. In order to make your _caldo de pollo_ , you begin cutting the vegetables and then you sear the chicken before putting everything in the Dutch oven to cook down. Once you're comfortable that you'll have a dinner that will warm your bones, you sit down with Brittany to eat the sandwiches she'd made. After your long cold walk home, the hot sandwich is exactly what you'd needed and you thank Brittany profusely for making them.

"I sure am convinced ya won't have school in the mornin' either." Brittany tells you between bites of her sandwich. "They won't risk havin' anyone try and get through the piles of snow."

"I'll be happy to be shut up away from the snow, though I ought to go out and shovel some off the porch and stairs in the morning."

"Ya know I don't like that I can't help ya with it. I know how cold ya get out there."

"You always do it mostly yourself, I can manage it. I don't even want you to try and shovel snow."

"I'm so frustrated by this, ya know. At first when it hurt real bad it was easier to relax. But now that it's healin' and itchy and painful, but not as painful, I just want to be doin' stuff."

"You only have a few more weeks, sweetheart." You promise her. "I know it's been difficult for you."

"Ya sure have made it better for me, just bein' around. And I know it upsets ya when I do things while I'm hurtin' so that makes it easier to remember not to do it."

You both finish lunch and you wash the dishes, figuring you'll empty the drain board before dinner. The stew is simmering well on its own so you go into the sitting room and turn on the radio. It's difficult for you to be idle during the day, perhaps you truly understand Brittany's plight, but the sound of the wind whipping outside of the window makes you want to drown out the sound and stay warm by the fire. As much as you love the days of summer, where you wander the beach, you go clamming, you take David's dinghy over to Cherry Grove, you think you like the winter more. It makes you feel settled sitting cozily with Brittany. You feel safe in your well built house and you love that the outside world can't disturb you.

"Stew sure smells good." Brittany grins. "What did I do before I had ya?"

"I just cook simple things, not much different than what you did."

"It's different though, bein' able to eat dinner with ya every night. Pop was always workin' so after Willie left for the war, I mostly ate on my own. I sure do miss them. Today I was thinkin' I ought to go check on Pop before the storm and then I remembered again."

"I'm sorry the remembering is so painful."

"Makes it easier with ya home. I never feel alone and I just think about how hard it woulda been if I never met ya. Ya give me a family even after all mine has passed."

"You give me a family too. Being so afraid to be far from home, I never imagined I'd find a new one. But there you were and then you built us this beautiful house and you fill it will joy every day."

"I've been a lot of sadness this year, but ya've kept me from sinkin' too far into it. Gettin' to see your smile is my favorite part of the day."

"You don't even know how often I've counted the times you've smiled at me. I never thought I'd have someone to look at me the way that you do." You take a deep breath and grasp her good hand.

"I've been thinkin' a little. I'm real worried about keeping' up with the bills bein' out of work. Me. Brewster sent that one week of pay home with David, but it's still five weeks I'm missin' out on. And I still have to pay the hospital."

"I think we'll be alright, so long as you let me take care of things. I know you like to look after the finances and so often refuse to take money from me, but I have a good job. I can afford to take care of the electricity and phone bill and groceries for as long as you want."

"I don't like to ask ya to do that. I like ya to be able to send money back to your family and be able to spend it at will. I've promised to take care of you in any way I can, and payin' the bills was one way I did that."

"But it's unnecessary." You shake your head. "We've built a life together and that means we both should have a hand in paying for it. You should worry about the hospital bill and let me take care of the rest."

"That'll leave so little for ya."

"I need so little. I have a bit of money hidden away as well, so I'm not awfully concerned."

"It's probably time for me to try and rent out Pop's house. I've been draggin' my feet on it because sometimes I just like to go and sit in the empty house."

"I don't want you to rush on that, I know it will be difficult for you."

"But it means financial security. The rent on there will pay all the bills here, then neither of us have to worry if we're out sick or with an injury.

"But that's still your money." You shake your head.

"I'm sure Pop would've wanted it to go to the both of us. He really cared for you and you nursed him in his last days. If ya were legally my wife, it'd be the same thing."

"Okay." You concede. "But I'd like to help you with the maintenance of the house when there are tenants."

"We can do it together, I'll even let ya go collect the rent if that'll make ya feel better."

"Thank you, Brittany, for bringing me into every part of your life."

"Ya know ya are my gal, all I want is to share everything with ya."

You listen to the radio for awhile before the power goes out and you're glad for the fire place and the candles that are readily at hand. You go about lighting them while Brittany finds an old lantern she'd taken from her father's house and sets it on the kitchen table to set a glow over your dinner. You take the bread out of the oven and set it on the table while Brittany gets the butter from the ice box and then you dish out two bowls of _caldo de pollo_. You're just starting your meal when there's a knock at the door and Brittany stands to go answer it.

"Davey." You hear her from the entryway. "What are ya doin' here."

"I told my pop I was gonna come out and check on things, seein' as ya have your broken arm. Looks like ya lost power too."

"C'mon in out of the cold, Santana's in the kitchen."

"David." You smile in the low light of the lantern when he enters. "Let me make you a plate."

"Aw shucks, Santana, I don't want to impose."

"There's plenty." You promise him and take another bowl out of the cabinet, dishing him up a generous helping. "Thank you for coming to check on us."

"It's a real nasty storm. My mama was more worried about ya both than I was."

"Your mama's always worried about me." Brittany laughs. "Since I was a little gal."

"She's seen to lookin' after ya."

"Will you be alright getting home in the dark, David? You're welcome to stay the night."

"I've gotta be back to help my pop, I'll just stay through supper, unless there's somethin' ya need done."

"Sam came and did the shutters for me earlier, that's about all there is to be done until the snow stops." Brittany tells him.

"I'll come back when it's done and shovel ya out."

"There's no need for you to do that." You shake your head. "I'm sure I can manage."

"Ya are a real gentle lady, it'd be wrong of me to let ya do it yourself. Ain't too much trouble."

"Well thank you for that." You know better to argue when Brittany or one of the boys get into their head doing something for one of the others. "Just promise me you'll come in for another meal."

"I'm never gonna turn down the opportunity for your cooking, that's for certain. The soup's real good."

"She's the best cook." Brittany beams. "And this is my favorite winter meal."

"It's just an easy stew." You flush a little. "But I'm glad you're both enjoying it."

You finish up the meal and Brittany sees David out while you set about doing the dishes. She comes into the kitchen when she's done and puts each dish away for you once they're dried. It's awfully quiet in the house without the radio on and you can hear the wind whipping against the windows. Luckily, Brittany built you a solid house and you feel comfortable safe within its walls. Brittany brings the lantern into the sitting room and then there's another knock at the door.

"Sure is busy here tonight, even with the bad weather." Brittany remarks. "I wonder who that could be."

"I'll go get it while you set that down." You tell her and you go to the door, opening it to find Sam and Mercy on the other side of it.

"Ana's sick something awful." Sam says as he steps inside and Mercy takes off her coat to reveal the listless baby. "We didn't know where else to go."

"Can I take her?" You ask and Mercy eagerly hands her over to you. You may have no medical training but you've heard enough of your father's stories and seen enough of your mother's remedies to feel as if you'll be some kind of help. "Okay, Ana, okay. We're going to see what's wrong with you and then we'll make you more comfortable."

You carry Ana into the sitting room and Brittany takes Sam and Mercy's things so they can follow you. Carefully, you undo her clothing, checking for a rash in case it's the measles. You had them as a child, so you're safe if she does but you don't know about Brittany and you worry about how dangerous it is for a child as small as Ana. Luckily, she seems to be without a rash, but her skin burns to the touch and you know you need to get her fever down. You bring her upstairs, Mercy trailing behind, and you begin to run a lukewarm bath with rubbing alcohol in it. Despite the heat of her body, little Ana shivers as you hold her without her clothes and your heart aches to see one so small so sick.

"Would you like to hold her in the tub, Mercy, or would you like me?"

"I think I ought to hold her. She doesn't like the bath much and I'm afraid she'll fuss."

Passing Ana back to Mercy, you step back and give her space to hold the baby in the bathtub, room lit by candles. Brittany and Sam are at the door and she gently slips her hand into yours, squeezing it tightly. You know that seeing illness makes her heart lurch with fear and it's difficult to watch as Sam enters the room and helps Mercy with the baby. She whimpers in the tub but is still fairly listless and you just hope you'll succeed in getting her fever down. You think of calling for Dr. Chang, but you're unsure how he'd be able to get so far down the beach in a blizzard and you know it would be unsafe for Sam and Mercy to take Ana to him. Just like the day she was born, you realize the harsh realities of living so far from anyone else and you try to hold in your heavy sigh.

"I ought to get some blankets ready for when she's through." You tell Brittany.

"I'll go, you stay."

You stand at the door listening to Mercy sing to Ana and you realize that she has a beautiful voice. It's soothing in the terrifying atmosphere that is tending to a sick baby and when she finally lifts her from the tub, you hand her a soft clean towel and she wraps her up, holding her close to her chest.

"She hasn't eaten and her diaper has been dry." Mercy tells you and you nod.

"It sounds as if she has influenza. My youngest sister had it when she was smaller than Ana and my father was insistent that my mother keep trying to get fluids into her. Brittany went to get blankets, but you can take her anywhere you wish to try and nurse."

"I'll come down to the sitting room, I'd like you to be near in case something happens."

"Santana, you should really be a doctor." Sam nods and you shake your head.

"I'm just a doctor's daughter. I'm glad to help when I can, but it isn't the profession for me."

"You've been a source of comfort to us." Mercy looks down at the baby and Brittany comes into the room with the smallest blankets you have. "Thank you, Brittany."

"The guest bed's got clean sheets on it so ya can stay and not have to brave the storm with a sick baby. I don't know much about carin' for sick little ones, but I'll do what I can."

"She really is the gentlest with little ones though." You say, as if Mercy hasn't seen her play with little Ana before.

"I ought to go back on home and get some diapers for Ana." Sam suggests. "But Mercy, I don't think it's wise for you to go back out with her."

"I don't think so either, we just got her fever down. You're sure you don't mind us spending the night?"

"We wouldn't have it any other way."

Sam hurries back off in the snow and Mercy takes the blanket wrapped Ana down to the sitting room. You sit beside Brittany and hold her good hand while Mercy nurses. You see her smiling a bit and you know that she's managing to get some milk into the tiny girl and you feel relief course through you. You hope that the storm passes by morning and they can get her to Dr. Chang, but for now, the bath and the milk seem to be helping to soothe her. Sam comes back with a bag of things, presumably things for him and Mercy as well as the baby, and you send him up to the guest room to get settled.

For her part, Mercy looks worn out and though you offer her some stew, she shakes her head. Sam eats a bowl of it but you tell Mercy that she ought to sleep while Ana is down and she agrees. You're uncertain what kind of night it will be for the baby, but you instruct Mercy to call for you if there is any change. You think so much about nursing little Mariana and you remember the feeling of pure fear that something would happen to her. She's not your daughter, so you're certain that the fear doesn't even compare to that of Sam and Mercy.

Once they've gone upstairs, you and Brittany wait for the fire to go out and then you go up to your own room carrying the lantern. Just a few weeks ago, you would have felt funny sharing your bed with Brittany with Sam and Mercy in the house, but now that they know of your love for each other, you feel comfortable as you get into your nightgown and help Brittany get her arm through her shirtsleeve. After you wash up for bed, you lay beside each other and she turns to face you.

"I got real scared tonight when they brought Ana here." She confesses, looking deep into your eyes.

"I know, so did I. I think I was more afraid than when she was born."

"Ya sure didn't seem like it."

"I feared she had the measles. I worried for her as well as you, I didn't know if you'd ever had them and I feared you'd be infected."

"I haven't had it, neither did Willie. We were real lucky, we always managed to stay healthy when everyone else was ill. Ya don't think Ana has it?"

"She has no rash, so she's safe for now. It's likely influenza, but I don't think Sam and Mercy should take her back out until she's better. I know they'll fear they're imposing on us…"

"I'll call for Guy when the storm breaks. I don't know how easily he can get down the beach, but it's worth a try."

"I was just thinking earlier how much I love the winter here when we're nestled away from the world. But when illness comes, it's not an easy thing." You sigh heavily.

"At least we've got the telephone now, makes it much easier than last winter when Davey was runnin' messages. And at least we all have ya to help us when we're ill."

"Truthfully, it scares me to be the one who can do it. I worry about what happens if I'm wrong."

"Sweetheart." Brittany kisses your forehead. "Ya can only do the best ya can, it's still a lot better than nothin'."

"She's so small, Brittany. I looked into her little dark eyes when I was checking her over and I was just terrified that I wouldn't be able to help. Luckily the bath did something, but I'm not like my father with medications and things."

"But ya still have knowledge from him and knowledge from your mother. Ya sure are smarter with it than I could ever be."

"When I was ill, you were a good caretaker, I knew I was in good hands."

"That was only after Doc told me what to do. It just comes natural to ya."

"How is your arm feeling tonight? I know you climbed up to get those blankets for Ana."

"It's alright, ya don't need to worry about it when ya have so many other worries."

"You'll always be my first worry." You promise her and listen to the howling outside of the window. "I'm sure it will be quite a long time before we have the electrical lines up again."

"We're so far out, I wonder if they'll even remember us."

"Perhaps we should call in the morning, just remind them. Luckily we have heat and we have the fireplace and the lanterns for light. You're always so well prepared."

"I'm sure we lost power much more here than ya did in the city. Lines are so shaky that it seems like they come down with the slightest breeze."

"It doesn't make me nearly as nervous as it did during that first hurricane. But I'm glad you're home, I never feel right when you're gone during a storm." You tell her, playing with a lock of her hair.

"I guess I would've gotten home before the worst of it, since Davey did. But I do like that ya don't have to worry."

"It's so early for there to be so much snow. I fear that when you go back to work it will only be worse."

"I'll get to ya, any way there is. And now that we've got the phone and neighbors, ya don't have to be stuck alone if it takes me longer than usual."

"I know, but my worry doesn't come from being alone, it comes from the fear of you being out there in it."

"We don't have to worry about it tonight, ya got me. How big were ya when ya had the measles?"

"I must have been about eight, it was before the little girls were born. My mother kept me in a room in the dark even though my father said that's mainly for rubella. She was so afraid of me being blinded by it that when she would come to bring me something to eat or drink, she'd turn out all of the lights in the apartment. I had a rough time of it, I would hear my parents whispering that my father was afraid I would die. I was delirious from the fever, but I'm certain he said that."

"Ya must have been so afraid."

"I was. I couldn't have read my books, even had I been able to turn on the lights, because I was so ill, but I lay with my doll whenever I was awake and I'd whisper to her that I didn't want to die."

"I'm sorry ya went through that. I was rarely ever sick when I was a child so I didn't start worryin' that I'd die until lately. Must be much scarier for a little one."

"My grandfather had died just a few months before that, so I thought quite a bit about him lying in the box. I wondered what my mother would dress me in and if me shoes would still fit. My mother cried when my fever broke."

"Ya were her only baby then."

"I was. But she tended me night and day. I remember waking up delirious to the sight of her face. Even though my father is a doctor, it was always my mother who nursed us."

"I wonder what it would be like to have a mother." Brittany looks off dreamily. "To be able to picture her face when things get difficult."

"Brittany, I'm—"

"Don't be sorry for havin' her and talkin' about her. I just always wondered, I suppose."

"I'm sure she loved you deeply in the brief moments she had with you."

"I hope so. I wasn't a screamin' baby, Pop always said, so maybe I was peaceful for her."

"That would be a nice last sight, I think. The beautiful face of a baby at peace."

"I love lookin' at Ana, and she's not even my baby. Santana, I sure hope she's okay."

"Bringing her fever down was a good start and Mercy getting her to take milk was even better. We'll just have to see how she holds up throughout the night."

"I put the robes on the bureau, in case Mercy comes for ya in the night."

"Thank you for that. I suppose I'll still feel odd in front of Sam in just a nightgown and a robe, but it can't be helped if she needs me."

"I'm sure he'll avert his eyes, he seems like a gentleman like that."

It's not long before you and Brittany cease talking and you fall asleep with your head on her shoulder. You still can't sleep in her arms with the cast on, but you've learned to improvise and you're comfortable enough like that that you're able to fall asleep. You're not sure how long you're asleep before there's the sound of a knock at your door and the sound of the crying baby and Brittany gets up first, lighting the lantern and the sliding into her robe before she hands you yours. Once you're decent enough, Brittany opens the door and Mercy stands there with Ana wrapped in a towel.

"Her fever's up again and she's been wailing. I tried to put her back in the bath, but she thrashed so much that it didn't help."

"Lay her on the bed." You instruct Mercy and you catch a glimpse of Sam in the hall. You appreciate that he doesn't cross the threshold into your bedroom and you hover over Ana, trying to soothe her cries. "Okay, sweet little one, I know you're suffering something horrible, but we'll make you better."

"There's nothing we can give her?" Mercy asks, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I wouldn't know how to dose the aspirin for a baby so small and it won't bring the fever down. I'm going to unwrap her from the towel and let her lay in the cool air of the bedroom."

When you unwrap Ana, she shivers with cold and you're certain you've made the wrong choice. Carefully, you wrap her up again and Brittany chances to pick her up with her good arm. Though she has so little experience with infants, all children tend to calm around her and she paces back and forth, rocking Ana, humming some Etta James song to her and trying to get her to settle. Both you and Mercy feel quite helpless, but you think that if Brittany can get her to stop crying, perhaps Mercy can get her to take more milk and then she'll be drowsy enough to fall back to sleep despite the fever.

"I've never felt quite so unsure what to do with her. It makes me feel like I shouldn't've left being close to my mother. It would have been easier to get a doctor, even in these conditions."

"I know it's terrifying, Mercy, but we'll get her through until Dr. Chang can come. If we can calm her, then you can get more milk into her and she won't dehydrate."

"Santana, she's shiverin', I need to wrap her in a blanket instead of this wet towel."

"I'll go get the blankets." Mercy offers, knowing that you're modest and would prefer not to walk about the halls so underdressed.

"Are you alright, Brittany?"

"Yeah, I'm just real worried for her. I just figured I ought to give it a try, help ya out."

"Thank you for that." You nod as Mercy comes back in with Ana's sleep things and the small blankets Brittany had given her earlier.

"Alright, little gal, I'm gonna wrap ya up real good so ya stop the shiverin'." Brittany tells the baby and forgoes the pajamas, instead just wrapping her up and putting her back over her shoulder. "That feels real nice, doesn't it?"

It must be close to an hour before Brittany is able to soothe Ana nearly to sleep. Once she's no longer crying, Brittany hands her to Mercy, who perches on the edge of the bed and begins nursing. You see her breathe a sigh of relief when she begins and though you know Ana is still warmer than you'd like, to see her drinking calms your fragile nerves. Though you have no desire to be a doctor, in these late night hours, you wish you had the skill that your father does, you wish that you could tell Mercy without a doubt that everything would be just fine, you wish you had a black bag that carried the magical things that would help to make her better.

When Ana is done nursing and falls back to sleep, Mercy stands from the bed and thanks both you and Brittany for your help. You wish you could have done more, but you suppose it's sometimes better just to have someone who will try. Sam is good, you're certain of that, but Ana is primarily Mercy'a business and to be surrounded by other women must calm her nerves. You hear them talking lowly in the hallway as you take your robe off and climb back into bed, but even with your head in Brittany's shoulder, you find it difficult to fall asleep.

"Are ya up?" Brittany asks a while later and you turn to face her.

"It's difficult for me to sleep. Now that Ana's fever is back up, I keep worrying that she'll take a turn for the worst."

"Should I brave the storm to go for Guy?"

"It's too dangerous, Brittany. It was dangerous enough early on, but you setting out in a storm at this time? You could end up in the ocean or lost."

"I just don't know how to help Ana."

"We're doing all we can. You can't put yourself in danger at this late hour. I don't know what I'd do without you if you were hurt out there." You feel tears spring to your eyes and Brittany wipes them, even in the dark of the room.

"Okay, okay, I won't go, I won't leave ya."

"You always put everyone before you put yourself. All I want is for you to just be safe."

"I try for ya. I know I'm reckless and it hurts ya when I get hurt, but I've never known anything but that."

"It's not just you anymore, sweetheart. If you hurt, I hurt. I don't want to sound selfish, but you putting yourself in unnecessary danger is painful to me. We'll care for Ana as best as we can throughout the night, you going out in a blizzard and walking the beach is careless. Somehow, we'll get Dr. Chang in the morning."

"I'm tryin' real hard not that put myself in danger for ya. I saw how scared ya were at the hospital but I think of my Pop who captained the ferry u less the coast guard told him he couldn't…"

"The coast guard would have told him he couldn't tonight. He'd be safe in his bed like you are. I'm not a doctor, but Ana will make it through the night. She's still taking milk. That's a good sign."

"It took so long to calm her…"

"I know, but you did. Your presence is so important. I can't believe sometimes that you never spent time with small children."

"I always thought I was bigger than I was." Brittany shrugs. "Even when I was small myself I always spent times with Willie's friends."

"The little ones love you. My sisters, Ana, the small children of the women of the island. You have a way. That's what we need you for tonight, not to venture out into a storm."

"I love ya, Santana. Much as I'm brave, I'm scared to leave ya."

"I know. I'm scared to have you leave me too."


	37. Your Promise Must Be the Reason the Happ

Once the storm subsides, Brittany manages to get Dr. Chang on the phone and he braves the snowdrifts to come care for Ana. You had been right about it being influenza and he gives Mercy medication and instructions to keep her comfortable. They stay another night and then they take her home, promising you that they have enough candles to keep the house lit until you have power again. It takes six days before you do and though you're missing it, Brittany insists that you go to get a Christmas tree. She strings the lights, though they can't be lit, and you decorate it together in front of the warm fire.

Together, you bake cookies and her arm gets better each day. You see her get antsy to do the things she shouldn't and you don't chastise her when she does. You know that she's grown and can make her own choices but still, you worry each and every minute. Christmas is coming though and the two of you get wrapped up in the excitement. Though you won't be going back to the city, you wrap gifts for your mother and father and the little girls and get them in the mail so they'll have them in time. You shop for gifts for the Karofskys who will have you over for dinner, you find a few small things for little Ana and you kiss Brittany beneath the mistletoe that she hung in the sitting room.

"Ya sure do look pretty." Brittany comes up into the bedroom on Christmas Eve to find you dressed for your evening alone together. "If I'd've known ya were gonna dress up, I'd've ironed somethin' else real nice for tonight."

"I love you just the way you are." You smile at her in her work trousers and suspenders. "I have to call home before my family goes to Christmas Eve mass, but after that, it'll just be us until dinner tomorrow."

"Sure sounds like the most special kind of night to me." She grins. "Mind if I talk to the little gals?"

"I don't think they'll let me off the phone without it."

You kiss Brittany's lips, that tender kind of kiss that strives to show her just how much she means to you and you feel her smile into it. Lord Tubbington mewls at your feet and you feel this deep sense of contentment within you. You thought that you might feel a sense of deep sadness at being apart from your family again for Christmas, but it seems to have lessened this year. You've settled so very securely into your life with Brittany, you look forward to the holidays with her and though you miss your family terribly, it's easier to not feel the pain of the distance when you're in Brittany's arms.

Together, you go downstairs to the telephone and Brittany sits beside you on the sofa. You hope that someone in the hallway will hear the phone ring, you hope that your family hasn't left early for mass and you squeeze Brittany's hand, anxiously awaiting an answer. It's Robbie Gutierrez, the man about your age who lives on the second floor who answers and you wish him a merry Christmas before you ask him to get your family from their apartment. You hold for several minutes and then you hear the small voices of your sisters clambering to speak with you.

Your mother takes the phone first, and you give her another apology that you didn't make it home for Christmas. She hushes you and thanks you for the gifts you sent, telling you that she loves you before she passes the phone to your father. When you speak to him, you can hear, even over the phone, how much he's aged since the war and it saddens you deeply. You wish that he'd been able to stay home, that he hadn't been injured, that he didn't have to work with his bad leg. You long to tell him that you helped support the family while he was away and that you could send more money than you do so he could stay home, but you know he'd never allow it. You're certain that your mother uses what you do send for things for the girls, that he wishes to have nothing to do with it, and so you never mention that you'd use every penny of extra money that you have to help them.

When Mariana takes the phone, you feel your dampened spirits brighten. She speaks of Santa Claus, of the _tres leches_ cake she had after dinner, of the new dress she's wearing for church and you smile. Brittany leans in against the receiver and she speaks with Mariana and then Carlotta and Concetta just as you do. There's another pang of missing them, but your mother had promised that she'd call after breakfast in the morning, so you know you'll get to hear about all of their treasures after Santa Claus comes. Concetta hangs up the phone and you lean a bit into Brittany, smiling into her shoulder, and she kisses the crown of your head.

"Those little girls sure do love ya."

"I love then too, so much. I want them to have the most magical Christmas."

"With the gifts ya sent them from Santa, they're sure to have an even better one than your parents could give them."

"I worry about my parents quite a bit. My father doesn't sound well…"

"Do ya need to go spend some time there?"

"I don't know, I may. He's such a stubborn man, he refuses the help of anyone who tries to give it to him."

"I know something about that…" Brittany looks off into the distance and you immediately feel bad.

"Brittany."

"'S alright. I'm just missing my Pop a bit more since it's Christmas."

"If you'd like, we can go to his grave in the morning, perhaps bring pine branches to commemorate the holiday."

"I don't want to depress ya on Christmas."

"You're not." You promise, kissing the back of her hand. "I know that it's your first Christmas without him and that's sure to be difficult."

"I just think of him sittin' at the Karofskys' table. It'll feel awful empty without that. But I'm alright. I don't mean to feel sad."

"It's alright to feel that way, love. You had a big loss this year."

"Still doesn't feel quite real." She shrugs. "But it is."

"We'll plan to get up early and care for his grave. When we're there, I'll give you a bit of time alone with him."

"I think I like it better when I have ya by my side. Sure did help when we went down to see Willie."

"Whatever makes it easier for you, I'll do."

"Ya sure are swell."

"I just love you quite a bit."

For a long while, you sit quietly until you know that the roast is done and you have potatoes to mash. Brittany follows you into the kitchen and she watches as you make gravy. A Christmas roast was a tradition your mother picked up when she came to America and you've carried it on in your own home. Like your sisters had, there will be _tres leches_ cake after your meal and you think that every bit of the work you've done throughout the day will be worth it when you get to watch Brittany enjoy Christmas Eve dinner. She's told you that she never did much for the day, since her father worked and it was difficult for him to put together a meal like this when he came home to two children, so now that you have her, you try to make it special.

She cuts into the roast while you bring potatoes and yeast rolls and vegetables to the table and you smile at how much food there is, even just for the two of you. As little money as your parents had when you were growing up, the Christmas Eve dinner before mass was always an affair and now that you have quite a bit more, you don't have to worry about where that money will come from. Once you're both seated, you bow your head to say grace and you ask God silently to pay special attention to Brittany as she suffers through her grief over the next few days.

"This sure is some meal, Santana. I can't believe ya spent all day in the kitchen."

"You were quite a bit of help yourself. I appreciated having the company."

"Wasn't anythin' much. Ya did most of the hard stuff. Plus ya made things to bring over to Davey's tomorrow."

"I know that Mrs. Karofsky works so hard to put Christmas together, I was just glad that she let me bring something this year."

"I'm sure Davey's been tellin' her all about your cookin'." Brittany grins.

"No one likes it quite as much as you do, sweetheart."

"That's because I get to kiss the cook."

Dinner is much more joyous than your conversation before it and you linger long after with the champagne you'd bought for the occasion. When your head is a little light from the alcohol and the bubbles, you get to your feet, figuring you ought to start cleaning up before you're too drunk to do it. Together, you clear the table and though Brittany normally washes the dishes while you dry, her arm makes either impossible so she stands at the sink to keep you company.

When you're through, you go into the sitting room with refilled glasses of champagne and you curl your legs beneath you on the sofa, even in your dress and stockings and you rest your head on Brittany's shoulder. She feels so soft and warm beside you with nothing but the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and you feel such a swell of happiness that it's hard to contain. Gone are the fears about your father, the worries you and Brittany have had about finances, the whole outside world. It's just you and Brittany, wrapped up in each other as you sit beside your tree.

When you fall asleep against her shoulder, she gently wakes you and helps you upstairs. You're so tired that it's hard to wash up and get into your nightgown, but she helps you as best as she can with one hand and you lean over to kiss her lips. Your bedroom is always cold and you quickly get beneath the quilt, wrapping your legs with Brittany's and leaning your head back on her shoulder. In the morning, you'll go to see her father, but just for the evening, the last thing you see before you fall asleep is a soft, contented smile on Brittany's face.

Brittany isn't in bed when you wake up on Christmas morning. The bedroom is cold and you feel an emptiness at her absence. You don't really want to get out of bed and brave the iciness, but you do, sliding into your slippers and robe before you pad downstairs. The kitchen smells like coffee and bacon and when you see Brittany standing at the stove, you come up behind her and stand on your tiptoes to rest your chin on her shoulder. Your arms find a place around her waist and you feel her smile, though you can't see her face. She's flipping pancakes in the pan and you smile to yourself at the fact that she woke up to make you breakfast.

"I was supposed to bring ya breakfast in bed." She laughs.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know, but I wanted to. Ya cook me breakfast all the time, I thought I'd do somethin' nice for ya on Christmas."

"It's still such a nice thing, even if it's not in bed."

"I think ya should go back to bed. Stay warm under the blankets while the house warms up."

"It is awfully cold this morning."

"Go. I'll see ya up there in a few minutes."

Listening to Brittany's orders, you go back upstairs and slide your slippers off before crawling under the covers. The bed is still warm from your body and it helps take the chill out from when you went downstairs. You take your book from the nightstand, turning the pages of _The House of the Seven Gables_ while you wait for her to come and soon enough, she's standing in the doorway holding a tray of food and coffee in one hand. She sits down on her side of the bed and you smile, glad that she brought two plates, glad that she'll be having breakfast with you in the warmth of your bed.

"My pancakes sure ain't as good as yours, but I tried real hard."

"They're perfect, Brittany. Thank you for this, you always make me feel so cherished."

"Well I cherish ya. Ya always do so much for me and I wanted to do this for ya in return."

"It wasn't too much, with your arm?"

"My arm is gettin' a whole lot better. I'll be goin' back to work just after the new year."

"Can you promise me that you won't do something that will get you hurt again?"

"I…Santana, it's real hard for me to promise that."

"You're just as good as those boys, better. You don't have to prove yourself."

"I don't feel like it a lot. I'm not a normal woman and I'm not a man, I'm caught somewhere in between and I've just gotta make everyone see that I can do anything they would do."

"No one should be doing things that would make them get hurt. You told me that Mr. Brewster said as much."

"I know." She looks into her lap. "I can promise ya that I'll try."

"That's better than you not promising at all. It terrifies me when you're sick or hurt, I can only do so much to care for you."

"Ya sure are good at tendin' to it though. Ya always know the right thing to do."

"I don't want you to get hurt so badly that I won't. A lot of the boys in my neighborhood worked in construction when I was living back at home and my father saw to some of them with devastating injuries. I couldn't manage if that was you."

"I'll try real hard not to get hurt, but ya know when I go back out on the Alcott…"

"I know." You suck in a breath, looking her in the eyes. "I know it's a dangerous job."

"Just so ya know, I really want to come home to ya every night."

"I know."

Together, you finish your breakfast and you go downstairs in your robe to help clean up the kitchen. When the cleanup is through, you go to bathe and you get ready to go with Brittany to her father's grave. You pull in your dress and warm woolen stockings and she puts a sweater over her trousers to keep warm in the bitter December weather. Because supper is early at the Karofskys', you pack the things you're bringing in a basket and you walk down the beach together, holding hands until you can't anymore.

The cemetery is empty when you get there and Brittany meanders through the graves until she finds the place where her parents are laid to rest. She carefully traces her fingers over the name of the mother she never knew and then she turns up her father's name, taking a deep, shuddering breath. It's the first time she's seen his name inscribed there and you can see the pain of realization on her face. She lays the Christmas wreath that she brought from the house and she kneels down in the snow in front of the stone.

"Pop, it's me, Brittany. I'm sorry I haven't been to visit ya, it's just been real hard without ya. But Santana is takin' good care of me. Ya know, I love her more than I've ever loved anyone. She's here with me now because she wanted to make sure I was okay and because she really became fond of ya while she was takin' care of ya. It's the first Christmas that ya aren't here and I keep thinkin' about how empty it's gonna feel around the Karofskys table without ya. We've been goin' there since I was a little girl and it was always the one day ya didn't have to work. I just wish ya could be here somethin' fierce. I miss ya a lot Pop, and I'll try to come visit ya more."

Tears fill your eyes as you listen to Brittany speak and though she still kneels, you wish you could gather her up in your arms and take away her tears. You have your parents, you don't know how to feel the kind of grief that she feels and you hope that it's a long time before you do. But you can almost feel her pain as she kneels there in the icy snow, her heart belongs to you and when it aches, yours aches in return. She finally stands again and she turns to you. You open your arms and she falls into them, big, hiccuping sobs escaping her when she does. Alone in the cemetery, you rub her back, careful of her arm, you kiss the side of her face, you promise her that you're there, because that's all you can do.

For a little while longer, you linger in the cemetery. Then, she's ready to leave and she wipes her face on her coat sleeve before you begin the walk to David's. You know she doesn't want to sadden them on such a joyous day and you give her hand a little squeeze before you drop it and just walk side by side over the wooden pathway. On the grey day, Christmas lights illuminate the Karofsky house and Brittany forces a smile onto her face. The door opens and David stands there, a big grin on his face. He lets you in and immediately, you go to the kitchen to help his mother.

You appreciate that Mrs. Karofsky doesn't usher you out, but she lets you help, taking the dishes you brought while Brittany puts the gifts under the tree. With Mary Ellen, you set the table and then the two of you work side by side with her mother, making sure that everything is ready to go on the table quickly. Smelling like a cigar and a whiskey, Brittany takes her place beside you at the table and you bow your head before you eat, despite the fact that the Karofskys don't pray before meals.

It's a beautiful dinner, though you watch every time Brittany looks over to the place where her father sat last year and you long to hold her close to you, to let her know that you're with her as she mourns. When it comes time for you to go, it's dark and snowy and you step out into the cold air, looking forward to when you get a bit further down the beach and you can burrow into Brittany's side for warmth. As soon as she's able, Brittany opens her good arm to you and you tuck yourself into her side, always feeling so enamored with her when she makes sure you're warm enough. It seems that you're always a bit cold and she's always a bit warm, so she shares her body heat with you and you walk in silence until you arrive at the front of your house.

"Did ya miss out on goin' to church these last two days?" She asks you, same as she did last Christmas.

"It's alright, I know it's difficult for us to make it to the mainland when the ferries run so irregularly. I enjoyed Christmas with the Karofskys and with you." You smile as she opens the door and you step inside. "Now I'm looking forward to spending the evening curled up beside you."

"I was thinkin' I'd make some hot chocolate, if ya'd like that."

"That sounds nice."

Because you had agreed not to exchange Christmas gifts, since you know that Brittany is worried about her loss of income, the time you're to spend together means more than anything else. Uncharacteristic of you, while she makes the hot chocolate, you go upstairs and change into your nightgown and robe, borrowing a pair of her thickest socks to keep your feet warm and you return downstairs to light a fire in the fireplace. Just as you're settling in on the sofa, she comes back into the sitting room bearing two mugs of hot chocolate. She sets them down on the table and though you assure her that she could go upstairs to change if she'd like, she chooses to stay dressed and she gathers you up in her arms.

"I've been lookin' forward to this all day. I wouldn't've said no to Mrs. Karofsky, but mostly what I wanted this Christmas was just to be with ya."

"I know you've been sad all day today, I wish I knew how to take away your pain."

"I sure do to. But it's helpin', holdin' ya like this. Ya never change out of your clothes and come back downstairs. I like that ya look all cozy in your nightgown and my socks."

"I was feeling a bit restricted in my dress and I wanted to be able to be close to you without feeling like I was constricted." You tell her as Lord Tubbington jumps up on the sofa beside you.

"I wish I could love ya tonight. I wish my arm was better…"

"When your arm is healed, we'll have all the time in the world."

"I know, but I miss…" She trails off, looking into your eyes.

"I miss it too, but the most important thing to me is that you heal properly.

"I'm really doin' everything the doctor said. I need to have full use of it when fishin' season starts up again. What good's a captain when she can't use her arm?"

"I'm sure you'd still be a fine captain without the use of it. You always find a way to make things work."

"Ya know, so much of who I am is wrapped up in my boat. I just can't imagine who I'd be without it."

"I think you'd still make something special of yourself. I imagine you'd find a way to do good on land."

"I feel like I'm lost a bit since Pop died. If I didn't have ya lookin' out for me, I'd probably be driftin' about aimlessly, tryin' to find a place where I fit in."

"I know that it's been difficult for you, now that a lot of the people on this island treat you differently."

"I'm just different, that's who I am. Pop couldn't raise me to be like a girl because I wanted no part in that. It's just that without him, people look at me funny when I walk around in my trousers."

"They shouldn't. I didn't know your father when I met you and I thought it was brave of you to do that. It's hard being a woman, we all have to make our way the best we know how."

"I think ya might be the only one around who's ever expressed that it was hard to be a woman."

"It is. I look at my mother, who works just as hard as my father each day, yet she's the one who cooks each meal, does the laundry, cleans the apartment and cares for my sisters. I love my father, but I think he might be lost without my mother."

"I guess it's different for me, since my Pop did all those things until Willie and I were old enough to help out. I never really saw how men were and how women were."

"I think that's what makes you so special. You're just you." You tilt your chin up and catch her bottom lip. "I admire you for that."

"Ya probably are the only one."

"That's not true, the boys on your crew respect you like no one else. As far as everyone else goes, they don't matter."

"It's strange, ya know? I never realized that I was lonely until ya came around and I didn't feel so lonely anymore."

"I feel the same way, sweetheart. When I was in school, all of the girls were always talking about the boys they were going to marry and I just…didn't fit in. I'd talk about it too, pretending I was interested in Roderigo Perez or Juan Gutierrez, but the truth was, I didn't want to marry either of them. I'd imagine that I'd live in my parents' house forever, helping my mother with the girls until they were grown and then helping them as they aged. There was no one I could talk to that also felt different."

"I guess I at least had Davey to talk to. I knew he liked boys and I liked girls too for a really long time. Then we found Cherry Grove."

"I'm sure there are places in the city where the homosexuals go, I just never would have sought that out. I probably really would have been alone forever until you kissed me that night."

"Do ya know how scared I was? I never kissed a girl outside of Cherry Grove before, it was too dangerous."

"You kissing me was the scariest thing that ever happened to me…and the best."

"Do ya still get scared?" She asks you, eyes earnest.

"Not when we're safe in our house. I do get scared sometimes when we're out of it. I wonder what people would think, what Mr. Woodhull would do if he found out, if my parents would keep me away from the little girls."

"I get scared too ya know. Not so much about people finding out, they already think I'm odd, but what would happen if something happened to ya and I was just your landlord."

"I think everyone knows that you're more than just my landlord."

"But even as your best friend. I can't be your wife out in the world and I wish for that more than anything."

"I wish for it too. I long to hold your hand so often."

"Ya have it now." She squeezes your hand. "At least we have that."

"This house is the safest place I've ever known. It still amazes me every day that you built it for us."

"I wanted ya to have a place here, I never wanted ya to go."

"Even when I thought I might go back to the city, it was never because I didn't love you, it was because I didn't know how I could. Here, I've figured it out. Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Ya sure do talk real sweet sometimes."

You snuggle further into her side and she hands you your mug of hot chocolate, now that it's cooled a bit. Under the lights of the Christmas tree, you sip it quietly, just appreciating her presence as you do. She strokes your hair, she kisses your forehead and you realize that though you'd forgone gifts this year, this moment is the perfect one. Before you realize it, you've fallen asleep against her body and you're not sure how much time has passed before she wakes you up.

"If I had both arms, I'd've carried ya up to bed so I didn't have to disturb your rest."

"It's okay, I'm sorry I fell asleep on you."

"It's alright, ya were tired. We ought to go up to bed."

"Brittany?"

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"I love ya too."


	38. When Someone Hears Listen to the Fear Th

Another round of blizzards on the island leaves you feeling stir crazy, and you find that every time you talk to your mother and father, you long to see them. Your mother sounds exhausted, your father sounds older every day and even the joy of the little girls seems subdued, like they need you to be around. Then, the heat ceases to work at school and Mr. Woodhull tells you that classes must be cancelled for a week while they work on fixing the problem. Because Brittany's visit to the doctor didn't give the results that she'd hoped and she's still in her cast, you suggest the night after you talk to Mr. Woodhull that you take a trip to the city. You're forever grateful when Brittany tells you that would be a good idea, and the next morning, you begin to pack in earnest.

The air is bitter as you walk down the beach carrying your valise with Brittany by your side and you pull your scarf more tightly around your face. It will be better when you make it to the mainland and into the warmth of the train, you know that and you try not to complain about how your bones ache from the wind and cold. It feels like forever before you've crossed over the water and a taxi has taken you to the train station but once you're onboard the train, you unwrap yourself from your scarf and hang your coat.

"Ya seem real worried today." Brittany observes, looking you up and down.

"I'm nervous to see my father. The way he sounds, I'm afraid his leg has gotten worse."

"That war really sent men home in bad shape, the ones they sent home at all."

"It's a horrible thing, isn't it? To think of men killing each other across the ocean, it makes me ill."

"I know ya are glad it's over and so am I. I hope there'll never be a war again."

"From your lips to God's ears." You nod, looking out the window as the landscape goes by. "I just wish I could help my parents a bit more with money. I know we have to watch what we spend right now…"

"If ya can help your parents, I'd never forsake ya for that. Doc says one more week and I should be able to go back to work. Then we won't have those worries anymore. It sure is a shame we've found no one to rent the house yet."

"Perhaps when spring comes. Then people will see the beauty of our island and want to be there. In all this grey, I can't say I blame anyone for staying away."

"Sometimes I like the grey, getting to sit with ya by the fire."

"Oh, I love winter on the island and cozying up with you in our house, but if I didn't have that, I think it would be awful."

"Ya never have to worry about that, I'll be with ya as long as I'm alive."

The rest of the train ride is quiet, both you and Brittany like to look out the window as you ride. You notice that new homes have begun to be built where there were once open forests and you think of what you read in the newspaper about people leaving the city in favor of Long Island to start their families now that the war is through. You hope the same doesn't happen to Fire Island, you hope that you and Brittany can leave in peaceful tranquility until you're grey and old. You're so lost in thought that you hardly notice that you're pulling into Pennsylvania Station until Brittany lightly touches your arm and you make to take your valise out from under the seat in front of you.

When you emerge from the train, you wait in line for a taxi and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the apartment building. The light is off in your father's office downstairs and you're surprised by that, never knowing him to stop before supper time. With a shrug, you lead Brittany up the stairs and you know the apartment will be quiet because the little girls are still at school. You knock softly and your mother comes to the door, ushering you inside.

"Santana." Your mother smiles. "Brittany."

"Hi, Mama. I hope you don't mind our visit."

"Of course I don't. When you called to say you were coming, I welled up with joy. We'll have to be quiet for the time being though, your father is resting."

"Is he alright?" Your brow furrows in concern as your mother embraces you, then Brittany.

"He's just fine."

Her voice doesn't reassure you, and you know it's because neither of your parents prefer to air when they're unwell. You try to keep the smile on your face but when Brittany looks at you, you know that it's faltered. Creeping past the door to where your father is abed, you and Brittany bring your things into your old bedroom and you sit for a moment on Mariana's bed. Gently, Brittany touches your hand and you bring hers to your lips, just needing the closeness of the contact with her. You can't linger in the bedroom long, you know that your mother will come looking for you, but just for a moment, you long to feel Brittany close.

Quietly, you leave the bedroom and Brittany follows you into the sitting room where you sink down on the sofa. You assume that your grandmother is out, the only sound you hear is your mother bustling in the kitchen to bring something out for you and Brittany to eat. Though you know you should help her, you find yourself unable to move. The idea of your father in bed in the middle of the day has really unsettled you and you can't help but think of Captain Pierce. He was so well one day, then he sunk into sickness and you're unsure you can bear the grief of losing your father in the way Brittany has.

"I see you fretting, Santana." Your mother comes into the sitting room with a small try and you try to remove the lines from your forehead. "What troubles you?"

"I'm alright, Mama, just a bit tired from the train."

"Brittany, I expected your arm would be better by now."

"The doctor says I need another week with the cast, the bone hasn't set proper."

"Perhaps when—"

"It's okay, Mrs. Lopez." Brittany interrupts and you think she surprises herself as much as she surprises you. "I'm sorry."

"That's quite alright. I don't mean to pry into your medical business."

"I just don't want to bother Mr. Lopez with my arm, it'll be alright."

Years of practice have taught you not to squirm in your seat, but watching the strange interaction between Brittany and your mother, you feel the urge to. You know that your mother suspects based on your demeanor that you're here for a reason and you think that perhaps now she knows you've been speaking of your father's troubles with Brittany. If Brittany were just your friend, perhaps you'd feel shame in spreading your family's business, though because she's so much more, you don't. But all that, your mother doesn't know and your cheeks warm at the thought of her being disappointed with you.

"I think I'd better go wait on the stoop for the little girls." Brittany suggests, understanding that though you long for her to be with you for difficult conversations, your parents would never bear the shame of having someone outside of the family know their troubles.

"I'll be down in just a bit." You nod to her as she stands up and she gives you a small smile in return.

"Santana." Your mother looks at you after Brittany exits through the door. "What is troubling you?"

"Mama." You sigh. "I'm worried about Papa."

"It's not your worrying to do."

"Please, was he more injured than I know?"

"He has nerve damage in his leg, but he's managing just fine."

"I'm grown now, you don't have to conceal the truth from me."

"It's not your mother's tale to tell." Your father comes from the bedroom.

"Papa, I mean no disrespect, I'm just concerned and wish to be able to do something. I can't imagine that it isn't difficult for you to work in such pain."

"I need to provide for my family, Santana, I have no choice."

"I could help. Please. When you were away at war I sent much of my paychecks to Mama. I could do that again."

"You are my child." He shakes his head. "The war was an extenuating circumstance. I refuse to be reliant on my daughter."

"But I want to help."

"It's not up for discussion. Your money is for you to pay your board and then for you to do with what you see fit. I won't have you sending it home."

"What if it wasn't money? What if…what if I at least took the little girls once school is out? I could have them stay with me for the summer so Mama has more time to work. It wouldn't be sending you money and it wouldn't put me out." You get out quickly, not wanting your father to object before you have time to say it all. "I can't help but feel that things would be easier for you if I hadn't left home."

"We'll discuss it. I won't commit to the idea until I've had time to think about it."

"Okay, Papa. I apologize if I'm stepping beyond my boundaries. I just feel I should do my part, even if I'm gone."

"You're a good girl." Your mother smiles a little. "But we'll have no more of this talk. It's not often we get to see you, and we'd like to enjoy your visit."

Your cheeks flush, knowing that the conversation was a difficult one for you to bring up. Taking the girls for the summer isn't something you've discussed with Brittany and you hope she won't be upset with you for saying you would. But if your father won't take money from you, perhaps more work on your mother's part will ease his workload and having fewer mouths to feed, even if only for a few months, can make a difference. When he leaves the room again, you watch him struggle out, and you think of the way he used to have so much strength in his body. You're lucky, your whole family is, and you think of Brittany's brother, buried at Arlington, you think of Art in his chair and you know that despite the weakness and pain that your farther is experiencing, he still has so much more than some.

All through the afternoon and supper, you feel concerned that your parents are angry with you, but they don't let on. Most of your time is spent entertaining the little girls and you're more than happy to oblige them. Though you'd ordinarily sit with your parents after the girls were in bed, your own private shame at attempting to meddle in their affairs has you ready for the privacy of the bedroom, where you don't have to fear being chastised. You've spent nearly all of your life in the good graces of your parents and you just wish for them to see that you're trying to help, not trying to embarrass them. But perhaps after you go to bed, they'll talk over your proposition and things will be alright in the morning.

"Santana, please read to us!" Mariana chirps, pulling her nightgown over her head. "We miss your reading so much."

"Of course I'll read to you. Once Brittany is through in the bathroom, I'll change into my nightgown and you can cuddle with me while I read."

"Nobody reads like you." Carlotta affirms. "I try to read books out loud sometimes at bedtime and they don't sound magical like when you read them."

"It takes a lot of practice, love." You smile as Brittany comes into the bedroom and you gather to your things to go change.

You come back out of the bathroom in your nightgown and Mariana curls up at your side and Carlotta and Concetta gather at your feet. Brittany smiles at you from Carlotta's bed and you set out reading Grimm's Fairy Tales. Mariana gets scared and buries her face in your lap and you stroke her dark hair as you read. Though you know they should all be asleep, as they have school in the morning, you can't help but continue until Mariana is asleep in your lap and Carlotta and Concetta are rubbing their eyes. Once that happens, you tuck the two of them into Concetta's bed and you pull the covers up over you and Mariana. Brittany is watching you from the bed beside you and once you're certain that the girls are sleeping, you reach over and squeeze her hand.

"Are ya alright?" She asks you. "I've been wonderin' all night, since I wanted to give ya your privacy with your mama."

"I'm alright. My father won't take my money as I expected and…I hope you're not upset with me…"

"Why would I be upset with ya?"

"I offered another solution, one that would give my mother more time to work so my father could slow down. I told them if it helped, I would take the little girls when summer comes, give them less mouths to feed and less to worry after. Honestly, Brittany, I thought of offering to take them now, for as long as my parents needed, but…I didn't."

"I'm not upset with ya at all. It'll be good fun havin' them for the whole summer. I love the weekends they spend with us and I think ya look real happy then too. If ya wanted them always, I'd be glad of that too."

"I know that my mother couldn't part with them permanently, I'm not even sure she'll part with them for the summer. I just want to do something to ease my father's physical pain and the financial strain on the family.

"I know ya do, and we'll give those girls a real nice place to stay. Maybe once this cast comes off, we could get three beds for the room, make it so they don't all have to sleep together."

"I don't want to put you out, Brittany."

"You're not." She squeezes your hand in the darkness. "I love 'em a whole lot and especially after ya helped me with my pop, I want to do whatever it takes to make things easier on your family."

"I feel so helpless. I came to Fire Island to hell support my family and now they won't take my money. I know if I were living here, they would."

"Do ya need to move back? I'd understand if ya did."

"I can't." You shake your head. "I couldn't bear to be apart from you. I've built my life with you, coming back here without you would break my heart. I'll do whatever I can from afar, but I'm staying put on the island."

"I'm real relieved to hear that. As much as I'd understand if ya needed to go, it'd be the hardest thing I ever had to do to let ya go."

"Taking the girls is as much as I can do right now. Perhaps with my mother working while they're at school, my father can take fewer patients knowing that she won't have to be home all day with them in the summer. I don't know, it was the only suggestion I could come up with."

"Ya really are smart, I think it's a real good suggestion. I know ya are worried about your pop, especially after ya helped mine so much while he was dyin."

"I know that my father isn't suffering the way your father did." You sigh. "But he'll work himself until he's crippled. That was the thing we were always taught, that we didn't accept charity, but in his daughter. Money from me wouldn't be charity, it would be paying him back for all he's given me."

"I know, but ya know it's hard for someone to think they'd have to take money from their daughter. He knows ya work hard for it."

"But I couldn't be who I am without all he provided for me."

"I know, sweetheart." She soothes and then tries to stifle a yawn. "But there's nothin' more ya can do. Ya offered all ya can."

"You're so tired, go to sleep and we'll talk more tomorrow."

Your sleep is fitful after Brittany drifts off, even though you usually sleep so well with Mariana curled into your side. It fills you with worry, that your parents may not accept even the offer of you taking the girls from the summer and your head fills with the worse case scenarios about your father continuing to work at the pace he has been. Oh, how you hate the war he was off in, though he'd been so brave and served your beloved county. It aches your heart and you long to feel Brittany's hands caressing you, telling you that it will all be alright.

When you wake in the morning, Brittany and the little girls are still asleep so you dress silently and go into the kitchen to kind your mother standing at the stove. She hands you a cup of coffee and you work at her side, slicing the bread for toast, setting it in the oven as she fries bacon and eggs. There's still something odd between the two of you and you long for it to go away. The last thing you want is for your parents to believe that you'd been willfully disrespectful of them and your cheeks color again at the thought.

"Your father and I discussed your proposition last night. We will send then girls to you when they're through with school for the year and we'll speak nothing more of it until the time comes."

"Yes, Mama." You nod, turning the bread.

"Your father will be just fine. There's no need for you to worry about him. You must continue to use your education to provide for yourself until it comes time for you to be married."

Her words jar you and you're reminded that it's what's ultimately expected of you. You're still young and therefore they don't push it, but the expectation is there. You'd been given an excellent education in school, but you'd also been given one at home. Cooking and cleaning for your family, caring for the little girls, it was all meant to prepare you for when you have a family of your own. You long to tell your mother that you may well be married, that the ring on the chain around your neck symbolizes that, that you're already helping to care for a home, even though you'll never have children. But love you as she may, it's not something she'll ever be able to understand.

You plaster a smile on your face as you help your mother cook breakfast. The girls have school and she always makes sure, especially when it's cold, that they start their day with a good, hot breakfast. Brittany comes dressed into the kitchen and you give her a small smile as she pours a cup of coffee. You go back into the bedroom and you help the girls with their hair before they come out and find their places at the table. Once they're gone, the house feels strange, perhaps because your mother's words hang over you. Your grandmother sits quietly knitting and you know she expects the same of you. Though you'd convinced yourself that your family was more enlightened than to expect you to marry, you had been wrong and it makes you ache inside. Love them as you may, you find yourself wishing to go back to Fire Island, wishing to isolate yourself from the idea of disappointing them.

That fear of being the disappointment eats away at you as you wash the breakfast dishes. You've always been everything your parents have expected of you and more and the idea that you'll never be that again is painful. They've accepted Brittany, but they've accepted her as your best friend, your landlord, not as the woman you see as a wife. For just one single moment you're reminded of Kurt and how he seems willing enough to marry a woman just for his father's sake. You would never leave Brittany, you know that deep within your heart, but you can understand the impulse.

"Are ya alright?" Brittany comes into the kitchen and asks you softly. "Ya seemed kinda quiet at breakfast."

"I'm okay." You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Just a bit tired is all."

"Are ya sure? I know what it's like to be upset about my pop."

"It's not something I can talk about right now, but perhaps we can go for a walk, do the errands for my mother."

"Alright, it's real cold out though, you ought to bundle up good."

After you finish with the dishes, your mother gives you a list of the things she needs and you and Brittany leave the apartment. You walk silently by her side for awhile, avoiding the frozen puddles at the intersections so you don't slip. Brittany slips her arm through yours, the closest form of contact you can get with her, and you're glad that it steadies you because you've never done particularly well on ice.

"My mother mentioned that I'll support myself until I'm married." You tell Brittany quietly. "I never thought about disappointing them."

"Oh."

"I don't want you to worry that I'll leave you, I never will."

"I don't want ya to be stuck with me out of obligation. Ya are the pride and joy of your parents, I'd understand that ya don't want to let them down."

"I'll never be with you out of a sense of obligation. I'm with you because I love you more than I'll ever love another person. I have no consideration that I'd leave, I'm just struggling to think that my family won't understand why I never marry."

"Perhaps the little girls'll grow up knowin' that ya have a big love, even if ya never tell them."

"I would love to hope for that. These strange feelings will pass, I just wanted to be honest with you that I was struggling a bit."

"The honesty sure does mean a lot. And I'm here for ya. Ya know that, right?"

"I do, beyond all doubt. And tomorrow we'll go back home."

"Ya don't think of coming here as going home anymore?"

"My home is with you, Brittany. It always will be."


End file.
